


The Remnants

by ladymayhem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Non-Canon Relationship, Potentially boring teacher-y stuff, Violence, possible gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymayhem/pseuds/ladymayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Slytherins gone and Voldemort rising to power once more, the Hogwarts staff is left to deal with the remaining students and the everyday strain of running a school. But the war goes poorly, and what should be a time for unity may find their friendships tested more than they ever thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Difference of Opinion

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; if you recognise it, it's hers, and I'm not making money from playing with her toys.
> 
> This is a sequel to The Leaving, a very old AU one-shot set at the beginning of Harry's sixth year in Hogwarts (in which Snape is still the Potions Master and the students of Slytherin House are mysteriously absent). You don't necessarily need to have read that fic to understand this one, but if you want to laugh at my 10-year-old writing, go for it!
> 
> Chapters 1 - 5&1/2ish were originally posted at FF.net under a different name. I picked up writing this again after over three years since the last update (!), and have decided to cross-post since I'm mostly on AO3 now and no one needs to slog through the horror that is my old fanfiction page in order to see my sporadic updates. 
> 
> As with The Leaving, the last two HP books and Pottermore rather destroyed many of the headcanons and attitudes that inspired this fic. Some elements of HBP and DH may appear, and some of the unpublished chapters (6+) have undergone changes to better fit the new information from Pottermore. Headcanon differences published before the release of Pottermore, however--such as that Minerva trained as a Healer before accepting a teaching position--will remain the same.

The fact that Severus had been expecting the knock did not make it any more welcome.

He sighed and contemplated the door to his quarters, wondering if it was worth pretending to be asleep, but decided that lying to his employer could only make the upcoming conversation more uncomfortable for both of them. It would be far from pleasant as it was—and there was no avoiding it. He had practically heard the gears turning in Albus’s head from the moment his Slytherins had failed to step foot in the Great Hall.

“Severus? May I come in?”

 _No_ , he thought savagely. _You insulted my house, ignored me, took the lives of my students for granted, tried to turn it into one of your jokes_ — _no, you may not come in._ But he stood and went to the door anyway. He made sure his face was stony as he pushed it open—not that it took much effort.

“Headmaster.”

The usual brightness in Albus’s eyes was, for once, utterly absent. “Might I have a word, Severus?”

“Will it make a difference if I say ‘no’?” muttered Severus, turning on his heel and leaving Albus to deal with the door. It was stupid of him—unfair of him—to make this harder than it needed to be, but Severus didn’t care. He was too angry.

“Of course,” said Albus calmly, though he followed the younger wizard into his sitting room nonetheless. “I know you are upset with me. It is perfectly understandable if you do not want to talk. Know, however, that you cannot avoid facing me forever.”

“And what, precisely, is there to discuss?” snarled Severus, already having to ball his hands into fists to stop their shaking. This was not good...he could not afford to lose control so early… “My life has clearly always meant little to you. It should not surprise me that you think the same of my students.”

Albus was silent for a moment as he took a seat and stared at his fingertips. “I am not entirely sure how to begin to answer you, Severus. If that is truly what you believe, then I fear we have misunderstood each other for a very long time.”

“Perhaps we have,” Severus snapped, refusing to join his mentor around the fire. “But I doubt it. What have Slytherins ever been to you? An inconvenience, at best—indifferent or unconvinced of your power, if not openly opposed. And then, when one comes around, it’s suddenly a case of them having been _sorted into the wrong house_ to begin with.”

He was pleased to see Albus flinch slightly; that offhand comment of his had caused, once Severus had overcome his shock, a row that had made for an uncomfortable several weeks. It still rankled, even to the point where Severus was loath to bring it up for fear of reopening the argument again, but he knew it caused the headmaster just as much discomfiture, which he surely deserved at the moment. Severus would have smirked if he hadn’t been so furious.

“Did it ever occur to you that there might just be decent people in Slytherin? Those that were chosen for its admirable traits, and don’t need to be ‘rehabilitated’? No. No, of course not. They’re pushed aside and taken for granted, and everything other than trouble from them is overlooked from the moment the hat comes off their head. Don’t pretend you care about them, Albus. No one does. Not really.”

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I do not care for _all_ of the students that pass through these halls, Severus,” said Albus, rather more coolly than usual. “And, forgive me, but with all the ‘decent people’ in your house, perhaps you can explain to me why not one of them stayed behind.”

That stung, more than Severus cared to admit, but he hardly needed to—he was shouting before he knew it.

“God _damn_ it, Albus, you know why!” he bellowed. “Do you think all of them left by choice? Oh, but of course, I’ve forgotten. All of them were already Death-Eaters-in-training!”

“That is not necessary, Severus…. What do you mean? You know where they’ve—?”

“YES! Isn’t it obvious? Those that didn’t go willingly were forced, and by god, if they want to survive, they’ll fight for the Dark Lord!”

“As I suspected, but why didn’t you tell me of this, if you knew?” said Albus sharply, and Severus was torn between wanting to shake him or breaking down at the trace of suspicion he heard there.

“I didn’t know. Not until they weren’t here. But I’m—I’m fairly certain they will be there, when he next calls for me.”

“Severus, this is not a time for uncertainty.”

“It is not a time for jokes, either!”

Albus nodded. “I am aware of that, and I apologise. It was thoughtless of me. However, the importance of appearing to our students as though—”

“As though what? As though everything was under control, as though it were no surprise? Merlin’s beard, all they had to do was glance at our table—”

“—which was made even more conspicuous by your leaving, I might add.”

“Because my students are OUT THERE PREPARING TO DIE FOR A CAUSE THEY CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO WIN, AND ALL YOU CAN DO IS SIT THERE AND ACT AS THOUGH IT’S A JOKE!”

“That’s _enough_ , Severus.” For the first time, Albus sounded truly angry, his light blue eyes icy as he surveyed his Potions Master with a frown. “Do not think I don’t realise the position in which they are placed, or what it means we may have to do.”

“Which is _what?_ Sit back and let them remain with _him_ , where they’ll either be killed there for insubordination, or by us for cooperating with him? I won’t do it, Albus; do not ask it of me!”

“I would not dream of asking that of you, if I could not ask it of others.”

“ _Ha!_ ”

“Severus, we will do what we must. For now, that means keeping things under control here, until we determine what exactly Voldemort plans to do with them, and considering what to do from there. There is no room for us to act rashly.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Severus thought he should have been cowed by the warning in Albus’s voice, or the sheer power filling the room, but he didn’t care. He was trembling with rage, not wanting to believe that his mentor would pronounce a death sentence so easily upon his students. _What right do you have, to say what matters most?_ he nearly shouted.

“You’re going to do nothing,” he said instead. “You’re going to sit here and do _nothing_ , while the Dark Lord weeds out all those that don’t truly want to commit, and they’ll be dead long before you get around to figuring out a plan—and by that time, the only ones left will be the ones that don’t want anything to do with you! All those that could have helped us, that would have been _glad_ to have been returned here, will _die_ and YOU’RE DOING NOTHING!”

“Severus!”

“Get out,” he stammered. “ _Leave_ my quarters, Headmaster!”

“Severus, _sit down_ and listen!”

“You cannot possibly have anything else to say to me,” spat Severus. “Get out. GET OUT!”

“No,” said Albus simply. “We need to have this conversation, Severus, and you need to understand me before it is over.”

Severus turned on his heel. There were so many snappish replies and insults and curses flying around his head that he was not entirely sure what made it out of his mouth; then he was running, storming out of his office and nearly destroying the door in the process. He heard the headmaster calling him back, rather angrily, but didn’t stop—he wasn’t sure if either of them would have survived, had they remained in the same room for much longer.

He was several floors away before he finally stopped, panting. His anger had not abated, but now it was tinged by trepidation—he’d never gone so far in an argument with Albus before. Surely he would not just let that go. If Albus Dumbledore thought something needed to be said, it would be said, come hell or high water, and now there would likely be a reprimand thrown in, as well. Severus ground his teeth—it just wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this, and neither did his Slytherins.

His fear for them cramped his stomach into knots and clouded his mind; he regretted fleeing from his only available sanctuary in the castle. There, at least, he could be comfortable and secure as he worried—or, at least, he would have been until Albus intruded, he thought angrily. Instead, he stalked the corridors restlessly, unable either to settle anywhere or to face going back to the rooms where Albus awaited him, not caring where he was going. Up staircases, down passages, through doors, doubling back...it didn’t matter, really, so long as he didn’t have to see that weathered face that infuriated him like none other…

He paused in the middle of his failed attempts not to rant to himself. As he had not really been paying attention to where he was going, he had ended up in a long, unfamiliar room, its many tables covered in an array of glass instruments that put his own potions lab to shame. He surveyed it curiously—surely no one could have known this was here? Granted, he had occasionally caught students in abandoned rooms attempting illicit potions, but this was far too elaborate of a set-up, and—as he looked around, noticed there were no ingredients or other paraphernalia—just rows upon rows of bottles and flasks and phials, glittering faintly in the dim light.

Strange. He picked up a small flask and examined it, feeling a stab of annoyance. What the hell was all this doing here? What the hell was _he_ doing here? This was surely some trick of the castle’s; Hogwarts liked to surprise the unwary wanderer, though he thought he’d certainly outgrown this sort of thing by now…. He refocussed on the flask again, noticing dimly it was not clear as he’d expected, but a brilliant light blue. Almost like—

He broke off that line of thought immediately; he was suddenly overwhelmingly, irrationally angry. Before he could stop himself, he’d hurled the flask across the room in a fit of temper. It exploded against the flagstones with satisfying force, and Severus stared at the shards without feeling. He hardly dared to glance at the table beside him: it was too tempting, all that fragility within reach, practically begging to follow its blue-tinted companion...and yet…

The contents of the first few tables quickly littered the ground; it was a convenient, if unexpected, outlet for Severus’s rage. Not a single piece was left untouched by the time he stopped, breathing heavily, slightly ashamed of the destruction he’d caused and not entirely sure whether it made him feel better or worse. He sighed and turned to leave; he had better things to do with his time, like thinking of what he was going to say when he returned to his rooms to face Albus again, that manipulative son of a—

He jumped at the deafening shattering sound, and whirled to face the room again, only to see that the tables of glass had repaired themselves without his raising a wand. His neck prickled.

“What is this?” he whispered. “WHAT THE _HELL_ IS THIS?”

There was, of course, no answer, but the room mocked him with its pristine condition. He upended the first table in annoyance and quickly demolished the others, taking care to trample any pieces he found that were that curious light blue. Twice more the room repaired itself, and twice more he attempted to destroy it, growing ever more frustrated, but too tired by the time he turned away for the third time to seriously consider going at it again. _Fine_. If the castle insisted on being as insufferable as its master, he would leave.

He was glad to see the door disappear as he slammed it shut; he never wanted to see the place again. He resumed his pacing of the corridors, still unwilling to return to his quarters in case Albus had decided to wait him out, and found himself halfway across the first floor when he turned a corner and collided with another person.

“ _Shit!_ ”

“Ouch!” Their exclamation was slightly more eloquent, and understandably so; Minerva was blinking at him in surprise, looking remarkably human with her dark hair falling in a loose plait over her dressing gown.

“Goodness, Severus, you gave me a fright...It’s late; I didn’t expect anyone else to be—Severus, you’re bleeding,” she said in concern, reaching for his face before he could object. His cheek stung slightly as she touched it, and her fingers came away clutching a stained shard of glass. He focussed on this instead, unable to bear the understanding that dawned in her eyes as she examined it and gave him a searching look.

“You’re up late,” he muttered quickly. It was a tactless way of changing the subject, but she seemed to accept it nonetheless.

“I was going to the kitchens for hot chocolate. Care to join me?”

“I—” Severus hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone’s company at the moment—particularly someone who had seen him completely humiliate himself mere hours ago—but Minerva was kind enough that she would not likely bring it up, and it beat the alternative of facing Albus. “All right. If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” she said, falling into stride beside him. “I don’t mind sharing traditions.”

“Traditions?”

“Would you believe, after over forty years of teaching, I’m still anxious the night before a new term,” she said, smiling slightly. “Of course, it’s more to do now with the scheduling than anything—you only cause a train-wreck with the schedules once, but the fear you’ll do it again never really goes away.

Severus snorted. It was hard to believe that clever, efficient Minerva could ever have messed up anything so badly. She raised an eyebrow as though she knew what he was thinking.

“It’s a lot harder than it looks.”

“I believe you.”

“I wish I’d believed it sooner. The first year I was deputy headmistress, I—well, I bungled it so badly that half the day was over before everything had been sorted. I was so nervous after that, I’m afraid I was rather insufferable.” Minerva caught him smirking at this, and laughed. “Not like that, you know...no, I couldn’t sleep at all before the next year—Albus finally took me aside and told me to stop worrying—and I didn’t, of course, but we stayed up a bit, had some hot chocolate, and I slept easier after that.”

Her cheeks were rather pink, but she drew herself up, abruptly seeming much more like her usual self. “So. I come down here every year, now. I think it‘s something in the way the elves make it, but it _does_ help me relax.”

They had reached a tall still-life of a bowl of fruit, and Minerva reached for the pear, which turned into a handle at her touch. Severus hesitated, but she pulled the painting out of the way and gestured him inside, the look behind her smile all too knowing as he passed her.

“Professor Snape—and Professor McGonagall, Mistress!” squeaked something at about thigh-level. Severus raised an eyebrow at the beaming house elf, but it did not seem to be intimidated.

“Hello, Nimsy,” said Minerva graciously. 

“We is wondering when you is going to be coming, Mistress, but I is saying you was going to be here, no matter what! I is telling them, I says, ‘Professor McGonagall is coming for her chocolate, and we is going to be ready for her!’ You—you _is_ coming for your chocolate, Mistress?” added the little elf anxiously, glancing at Severus.

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss it,” Minerva reassured her. “And—Professor Snape would like some as well.”

Nimsy’s eyes widened. “Sir—Sir is wanting to have some too?” she said in awe.

“I—Minerva—” Severus started, but Minerva’s face brooked no argument, so he swallowed instead. “Yes. I’ll have some as well.”

Nimsy squealed in excitement and pattered away, joining the elves by the stoves as they babbled contentedly. Severus did not want to catch their eyes, so he allowed Minerva to lead him to the long table nearest the immense fireplace.

“I’m sorry,” she said in an undertone. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to...it’s only that I’ve known Nimsy for a very long time, and she‘s very excitable. They love visitors—they so rarely get to fuss over anyone in person, I think they’d be hurt if you didn’t let them serve you.”

There were so many incredulous responses on Severus’s tongue, he wasn’t quite sure which would be most appropriate. “You know the house elves?” he said finally.

“Nimsy has cleaned my office for over forty years, Severus. There’s nothing wrong with taking an interest. It’s a bit non-traditional, certainly, but she’s a gentle creature with some rather fascinating stories.”

Severus stared, barely taking note of the mugs that were shoved in front of them by elfin hands. “You are full of surprises, as ever, Minerva.”

“As are you,” she countered, her gaze piercing over the rim of her mug. “I—I take it you have seen Albus, then,” she prodded gently.

“He’s probably still waiting for me in my quarters,” he said bitterly. “Suffice it to say I am not eager to return. I—hell, I completely lost it with him.”

“I won’t say he didn’t deserve it.”

Her words took a moment to register, and then he stared, his automatic anger fading. “I—you agree with me.”

Minerva shook her head. “You know how I feel about what he did earlier—”

“He said he was trying to keep everyone calm, keep up appearances for the students.”

“Well, it was a crass way to go about it, and it clearly didn’t work, did it?” sniffed Minerva. “And, knowing you, I expect you told him so.”

“Among other things.”

“Ah. And there’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean, Severus. It’s completely understandable that Albus was out of line, and Merlin knows he needs someone to remind him when he is, sometimes. However, neither of you had any business trying to confront each other when you’re both angry.”

“I—what?” said Severus, feeling rather wrong-footed by this. “He came to me! Do you think I _wanted_ to speak with him?”

“Of course not. Hence, you probably managed to say quite a few things to deliberately make him feel worse, but never mind that now…” she sighed. Severus opened his mouth angrily, but she forestalled him with an upraised hand.

“I’m sorry, Severus. I didn’t mean it as judgment. Merlin knows I would have done the same.”

“He would have taken it from you, though,” Severus muttered, taking a swig of his chocolate and suppressing a shudder at the disconcerting warmth. He had no rational reason for being happy; it was no right of a drink’s—and a non-alcoholic one, at that—to attempt to comfort him. He was slightly appeased, and simultaneously depressed, by Minerva’s lack of response.

“I should just go,” he said quietly. “Like the rest of them.”

“Severus, you agreed—”

“—that I would stay, because you insisted, and because I thought—” he paused, irritated with himself, “—that somehow, it would work out, and Albus and I could come to some sort of understanding. I thought he would do something.”

“Even Albus’s power has its limits, you know,” said Minerva softly. “He cannot fix something like this overnight.”

“He has no intention of fixing this at all.”

Minerva eyed him sternly. “That’s not true, and you know it. He just needs time to figure out what exactly is going on, and he’ll have all your students that want to be rescued back before you know it. In the meantime, he needs our trust.”

“In the meantime, half my students could be dead, and he’s willing to sacrifice them so he can plan a strategy that better fits into his scheme for the ‘greater good,’” said Severus hotly. He regretted his harsh tone when he saw that Minerva’s eyes were unusually bright.

“Oh, Severus, I know,” she said gently. “I know you care for them. It’s hard to stand by and do nothing—I know you feel like you’ve failed them, and that waiting while they’re in danger just feels like failing them even more.” She reached for his hand—the one she had healed hours ago—and he surprised himself by letting her take it.

“But—Severus—you also know what would happen if you tried to drop everything to help them.”

“I do,” he conceded. “But—” He felt childish for saying it; Merlin, he was no better than a schoolboy whining to his professor about the amount of homework, but he ploughed on regardless. “I’m tired, Minerva. I’m tired of giving up everything for a cause and watching people die anyway.”

“I know. I’m tired, too.”

“It’s just—I want to _save_ them, for once. Say to hell with my duty.”

“Could you live with that?”

“No,” he admitted. He wished he were lying—he was a _Slytherin_ , for God’s sake, he should only be caring about his own skin if he wanted to fit his house’s typical expectations, shouldn’t he? But, somewhere along the line, Dumbledore’s annoying sense of sacrifice must have rubbed off onto him. _Or was pounded into me. Damn him_ , Severus thought.

Minerva nodded. “I know you couldn’t. And so—manipulative as it may seem—does Albus.”

“And so he’s using me. Again.” He sighed. “He has always asked so much that I honestly thought—”

He broke off suddenly as he realised Minerva’s hand was still placed over his, though he had curled it into a fist at some point; she was staring at him like few ever had. Bloody _hell_ , what was he doing? He was a spy (and, more importantly, a man); he couldn’t afford to be pouring out his frustrations to anyone, even if Minerva was likely as close as he had to a friend, and had already seen him cry. _Especially_ since she’d seen him cry. Complaining now was—was just begging for sympathy, wasn’t it? He took a breath and tried to return her gaze levelly.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just that I—I can’t do everything,” he finished, lamely.

“No,” she agreed. “You can’t. You can’t fulfil your duties here, and to Albus, and also to You-Know-Who, and still try to take on reclaiming your Slytherins by yourself. It was hard enough for you last year—”

“And with Umbridge gone, there is considerably less stress—”

“—from the school, yes. But with You-Know-Who out in the open, there’s bound to be more to do on that front, and in dealing with the Ministry, and of course with the Order. If you intend to focus on that, Severus, something else must give.”

“My Slytherins, naturally,” he grumbled, still annoyed. _No surprise there_. “If only it could be the school instead…”

“Severus,” Minerva started, sounding exasperated now, but he waved her away.

“Only wishful thinking. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good, because even if Albus _hadn’t_ outright refused the idea of your resignation, I would have,” she said, smirking slightly. “And I believe procedure calls for my signature, as well.”

“Pulling rank? How very Slytherin of you,” said Severus wearily, but he was glad they could bicker about something properly.

“I won’t say I wasn’t considered for Slytherin.”

“And you ended up in _Gryffindor_? The hat must have been having an off day.”

Minerva shrugged. “I chose it. It often leaves such decisions up to personal preference if the choice isn’t always obvious—at least, so I’ve heard.”

Severus had nothing to say to this, so he settled for trying his chocolate again, glad to find that it had cooled somewhat. They sat in silence for a while, before Minerva heaved a sigh, and he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I was just wondering when I’ll know how—how many of my new Gryffindors would have been yours,” she finished quietly, looking apologetic.

Severus ignored the sharp pang beneath his ribs. “None, I suspect,” he answered instead. “It’s not your fault the Dark Lord got to them first.”

“No, I mean the first years,” said Minerva. “Nearly all expected were present—there should have been at least some of them heading to Slytherin. But I saw...well, you remember what it was like...it’s terrifying enough wondering where you’ll go, with all four houses present. Can you imagine being picked to be in a house alone? It’s no wonder they were frightened. I wouldn’t have had the courage to stand out like that, right after arriving.”

“If any of them had, they likely would have really belonged in Gryffindor, anyway,” Severus mumbled.

“Fair enough.”

They lapsed into silence again, Severus eyeing the witch across from him. She seemed perfectly at ease—not at all uncomfortable in front of the house elves in her night things, nor by the quiet. He, on the other hand, felt the awkwardness of the situation creeping up on him again; he hardly knew her as more than a colleague, and yet here they were, calmly discussing matters as though they were intimate friends. He wondered vaguely whether breaking down in front of her had given her some odd sense of being closer, and why the hell he was allowing this nonsense, but his snide remark on her choice of companionship for the night was forestalled by the yawn that slipped out instead.

Minerva spared him a glance that was just hard enough not to be considered pity. “You should get some sleep, Severus. It’s very late.”

“Is it late enough for Dumbledore to have given up for the night?” he sighed, getting to his feet.

“Of course. We have classes in a few hours.”

“That hasn’t stopped him before,” said Severus irritably, but it was time to leave nonetheless. He paused near the door. “Goodnight, Minerva.”

He didn’t linger to hear her reply, but quickly discovered that she had been right; Albus was gone by the time he made it back to his quarters. Severus allowed himself a slight sigh before he headed for his bedroom, wondering just how much of this he could take before his position drove him utterly mad. At the moment, his prospects didn’t look promising, and perhaps that was why he was less annoyed than he should have been by his honesty with Minerva. She had seen difficult years before; she was, if not precisely a kindred spirit, another survivor; if she could face her dragons and come out all right, he certainly could as well.

Couldn’t he?

It was a troubling thought, and one that tormented him long past climbing into bed. He had to keep going—he had no choice—and yet, he felt horribly as though he were only trying to convince himself. He eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, made all the worse for knowing that whatever he did, it was going to be a very difficult year indeed.


	2. To Another Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All JKR's. Me =/= JKR. Don't sue me; I have no money.
> 
> Another of the old chapters originally posted on FF.net ~2011ish. Holy verbosity, Batman!

Minerva’s eagerness for a new term was often enough to eclipse the weariness of staying up almost the full night before, and this year was no exception. The faces changed from year to year, but she greatly enjoyed the expressions that would invariably appear in the first few class periods: the shyness and wonder of the first years, the slight superiority of the second years (though quickly replaced with horror at finding out that, yes, they did in fact have a _lot_ more to learn over the next six years), the determination of those taking O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s within the next few months, a few smiles from familiar students that genuinely enjoyed her classes. Despite knowing she would be feeling ready to strangle the lot of them come Christmas holidays, for now, it was a new year, and she was glad to be back.

Naturally, it would be different, though. There would be more security and general busyness, what with Voldemort out in the open, but at least Umbridge was no longer in residence to terrorise them all. Of course, there was still likely to be much strife, considering Albus had harangued Alastor into taking Defence—she was positive she would have to pull him and Severus apart at some point—but that, at least, was manageable. She’d been dealing with illegal duelling in the corridors for years.

And then the classes. She frowned slightly as she prepared the parchments that would detail all the students’ schedules and the staff’s rosters. There was no way in hell she was going to attempt rearranging the timetables to split class sizes evenly—whatever classes would have been held with the Slytherins would just have to be smaller. That would be unusual, but, privately, she almost wondered whether it wasn’t better, in some way; the younger Hufflepuffs might be able to focus in her classes without being in terror of sabotage or ridicule. Of course, Severus would be _thrilled_ about teaching the Gryffindors alone, but there was nothing else for it. She’d find some way to make it up to him, if he’d let her.

“Professor McGonagall, Mistress?”

The parchments nearly went flying as Nimsy appeared with a sharp _crack_ ; Minerva had to juggle awkwardly to keep them in her arms.

“Nimsy—what—?”

“Nimsy is sorry, Mistress, I is not meaning to startle!” the elf said. “I is not meaning to come, but Professor Dumbledore is telling me to give you this; he is saying it cannot wait!”

“What on earth?” Minerva muttered to herself, but she took the proffered letter. “Thank you, Nimsy.”

The elf vanished as abruptly as she had come, leaving Minerva to frown at the envelope. It was not like Albus to use the elves—it truly couldn’t wait, then—but it wasn’t urgent enough to warrant a Patronus. Perhaps it was a reminder, or something he’d forgotten to ask her, or (she suppressed a flash of hope) a suggestion on how to better handle this year’s timetables?

She slit open the missive and was nearly disappointed; there were only a few short lines in Albus’s loopy script. As she read, however, she felt her eyebrows reach for her hair. It _was_ about the scheduling, of course, but…

Hell, giving Severus the entirety of Gringotts wasn’t going to make up for this.

What a lovely way to start the morning.

* * *

If he hadn’t known better, Severus would have thought that it was a particularly hellish time of year, and not the start of a new term (though, now he considered it, they weren’t _that_ much different). He threw himself into his seat at the high table and scowled into his teacup, wondering how on earth the diminished ranks of students could be just as loud and obnoxious as they were when the Great Hall was full.

His head ached with lack of sleep, and he barely inclined his head to Minerva’s nod. He felt Albus’s eyes upon him, and Alastor was glaring from the other end of the table, but he ignored them both and reached for the toast instead. It tasted little better than parchment to him at the moment, but he didn’t relish the idea of passing out during classes; knowing his luck, he’d have several solid hours in a row, and attempting to face them without sustenance seemed an absurd temptation of fate.

He didn’t look up until he heard Minerva clear her throat, somewhat impatiently, and realised that she had left her seat and was standing before him with what was presumably his class register for the year. He took it without thanks and set it aside; he had no desire to see which of his students he’d have to face first until absolutely necessary. Beside him, Filius sighed.

“Always the worst Mondays…ah, well. I’ll earn my drink at the end of the day. Will you be joining us this year, Severus?”

Severus started to shake his head, but Aurora Sinistra piped up from Filius’s other side. “Yes, Severus, why not? Surely you can’t already have essays to mark?”

“Perhaps not, but I am otherwise occupied,” he declined, rather impressed with himself for keeping his sneer to a minimum.

“Oho, is that what they’re calling dark deeds these day? Being ‘occupied’?” said Alastor loudly. Aurora, Charity, and Bathsheda looked rather nervous at being caught in the middle of the conversation; Filius muttered an excuse and hopped off his stack of cushions, scurrying away as quickly as dignity would permit.

“Poppy still needs potions for the hospital wing,” said Severus coldly, gripping his cup so tightly he feared it might shatter. “I’m afraid I’m a bit behind this year.”

Alastor stuffed his roster into his coat pocket and got to his feet. “Ah, well, I guess it happens, what with your other master…ask you to brew him some poisons first, did he? Pity.”

“Fuck off, Moody,” Severus hissed softly, ignoring the scandalised looks of his colleagues.

“Same to you, Snape, same to you…if you’ll excuse me… Got to go see if I can undo some of the damage Umbridge did last year—though at least they never let _you_ teach Defence, thank God…” Alastor growled as he stumped away.

Severus reached for his schedule and clutched it tightly to keep his hands from shaking. It wasn’t fair, just how quickly Alastor could get under his skin; he was annoyed with himself as much as anything, though not nearly as angry as he was at Albus. He could have at least _tried_ calling in other favours—or, God forbid, asking Severus himself—before picking the paranoid ex-Auror to traumatise the Defence classes…

At least, thought Severus miserably, he wouldn’t have to put much effort into the students this week. It was a simple matter of intimidating the new ones and re-establishing a healthy fear in the others; then, watching them carefully as they attempted to brew a potion while clearly having forgotten everything he’d ever told them before. Thankfully, Longbottom was no longer an issue…in fact, his N.E.W.T. classes would likely be the smallest he’d ever seen, seeing as it had mostly been his Slytherins that had done well in his classes…

He finally let himself peruse the schedule, smirking slightly as he realised he would be able to terrify the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs first thing, but then froze in horror as he read further down the week and found his 6th year N.E.W.T. classes.

_What the hell?_

No. There had to be a mistake. He would get Minerva to set it right—and then it dawned on him that she had not actually said anything to him this morning, which, for her, essentially meant she was _trying_ to ignore him…  _She knew_.

Furious, he stalked from the table and found her finishing handing out the students’ timetables; they scattered at his approach, but she didn’t even flinch as he caught her by the arm.

“What is the meaning of this, Minerva?” he hissed threateningly. 

She took her time in turning to face him, the spots of pink high on her cheeks confirming his suspicions, but her eyes flashed in indignation nonetheless.

“You’re hurting me, Professor Snape,” she said calmly, nodding to his fingers. He very much doubted it—the look on her face said all too clearly she was warning him not to make a scene—but he loosened his grip nonetheless.

“I asked you about the meaning of this, Professor,” he snarled, waving his roster beneath her nose. “Did I not explicitly specify, as I do every year, that _only_ students receiving an ‘Outstanding’ on their O.W.L.s would be admitted to N.E.W.T. level?”

“You did,” said Minerva levelly.

“Then _why_ ,” he spat, “is Potter’s name on my list, Minerva? He did not receive an ‘Outstanding’ on his Potions O.W.L. You _know_ he did not.”

“I am aware of it, yes.”

“ _Why is Potter’s name on this list?_ ”

Minerva drew herself up. “I am afraid I cannot accommodate your usual policy, Professor Snape,” she said curtly. “The headmaster specifically requested an exception this morning. There’s nothing you can do—the boy _will_ be in your class, whether you think he can cope with the material or not.”

Severus turned to glare at Albus, but the headmaster had disappeared from the hall. _Damn him_. Before he could round on Minerva again, however, he felt her hand press his back lightly, the movement easily concealed by their voluminous robes.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” she said in an undertone. “I didn’t know—truly. I’ll speak with Albus.”

“Forgive me if my hopes aren’t high,” he muttered. He nodded to her and strode from the hall, needing to hurry now to make it to his dungeons in time. He could scarcely believe that Albus was trying to make this difficult for him…what had been the point in waiting until the last moment to show favouritism to Potter? If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Albus had done it to deliberately annoy him...

Scowling, he threw open the door to his classroom and barely registered the looks of adolescent terror that greeted his entrance.

“Silence,” he snapped unnecessarily. “Now…whatever you may have been led to believe about magic, you will find that there will be no foolish wand waving in this class…” 

* * *

“Oops. Sorry, Seamus.”

 At N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration, ‘oops’ was one of the least welcome things for the supervisor to hear. Unfortunately, it was also one of the most common.

Minerva sighed and immediately righted the errant spell. “No matter, Mr. Thomas…However, _do_ try and aim for your hedgehog next time, and not your classmate, won’t you? As you can see, this spell isn’t really meant for human transfiguration.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” mumbled Dean, dodging the half-hearted swipe Seamus made at him. Minerva shot a warning look at them both and nodded to their hedgehogs.

“Well, keep at it, then. You’ve both still got a ways to go, I see.”

In truth, so did most of the class, but she ignored the fact that they all should have known cross-species transfiguration by now and let them go on reviewing—as long as they didn’t socialise too much. And, on the whole, making rounds while they practised was less tedious than lecturing to a sea of vacant faces.

“Oh, Harry, just ask her about it!” said Hermione in exasperation, as Minerva approached the table near the front of the class. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I can think of something—” started Ron in an undertone, but Minerva cleared her throat.

“Well done, Miss Granger,” she said, indicating the flock of brilliantly coloured parakeets preening themselves on the desk; the boys’ hedgehogs ignored them. “Potter, Weasley, let’s see some effort.”

The boys flushed and poked at their hedgehogs; Ron’s sprouted wings and a feathery tail, while Harry’s at least took the form of a parakeet, though still retained its spikes. Minerva raised an eyebrow.

“A little more practise, I think. Carry on.”

The remainder of the period passed in much the same vein, Minerva occasionally correcting a technique or fixing a minor mishap. She was pleased to see that nearly everyone managed a parakeet by the end of the hour, though, and confidently set them to researching methods of non-verbal transfiguration before their next lesson.

“Er…Professor?”

She looked up from gathering her books to see Harry standing at her desk, rather nervously.

“What can I do for you, Potter?”

“Er… well, I think there’s been a mistake.”

Minerva had the feeling she knew where this was going, and she desperately wished he would leave it alone, but it wouldn’t do to take it out on the boy. She peered at him sternly.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate, should you wish for me to be of any service.”

He pulled the parchment she had given him that morning from his bag. “It’s just—I’m signed up for Potions.”

“Well, you do need it in order to apply for Auror training—unless that is no longer your ambition?”

“Yes, I mean—it is, but I thought you said I had to get an ‘O’ on my O.W.L. to keep taking Potions. I didn’t.”

Minerva stared at him for a long minute. She was very well aware of what would happen if it got out looking like favouritism; it would be tricky enough as it was without the politics of dealing with other angry students. She hoped Hermione’s good sense and tact had rubbed off on him more than she had had cause to witness during her classes…

“I am aware of your marks, Potter, and believe me—Professor Snape is as well. However, it is the headmaster’s wish that you continue your studies in Potions for the time being, and so he has made an exception.”

Harry blinked. “What—why?”

“He has his reasons, I suppose, though he has not shared them with me,” said Minerva. “Needless to say, it is highly unusual. I trust I do not need to stress how much this should _not_ become common knowledge?”

“Of course not, Professor. I—thanks.”

“I had no hand in it. Try and make the most of this opportunity, though, won’t you?” she said briskly, and shooed him out of the door before her. “And—Potter—” She stopped, unsure of how to phrase her warning, and wondering just for whom she was giving it.

“I am aware that telling you to keep your head down in class in the past has been only marginally successful,” she said wryly, “but please at least _attempt_ to keep out from under Professor Snape’s feet. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

The slightly sheepish grin on Harry’s face vanished immediately. “Does he know if—what happened to the Slytherins, Professor?”

“I wish I could confidently tell you it is none of your concern, Potter, but they _are_ your classmates. Suffice it to say Professor Dumbledore is doing what he can, and would appreciate it if rumours were not passed around carelessly. Now…I suggest you hurry, if you intend on making it to your next class on time,” Minerva finished.

She watched Harry rush away, and bit her lip at the guilty twinge in her chest; much as she wished it to be so, she was not at all sure that Albus was doing everything that could possibly be done. The image of Severus’s agitated face swam in the forefront of her mind again, and she sighed—she needed to speak with Albus as soon as she could.

 


	3. Toasts and Tantrums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR gets the credit and the money.
> 
> Less verbosity this time, barely. Current me still hates 2011 me. X-posted to FF.net under a different name, as per usual.

“You are dismissed. And, thanks to your classmate, you can all add a roll of parchment on why it is important _not_ to assume Harpan’s methodology is appropriate for potions requiring moonstone,” snapped Severus, pleased to see that his current class looked too stricken to complain about the extra homework.

Merlin, his head _hurt_. His temper had not been improved by his Gryffindor O.W.L. class finding new ways to muck up the simplest instructions, and he longed for nothing more at the moment than to get them out of his sight, down a painkilling potion, and crawl back to his quarters. Though the latter certainly wouldn’t be possible, he was heartened to see that his students were at least fleeing the room as quickly as possible, and he _did_ have a few analgesics in the top drawer of his desk, even if he’d wanted to use them sparingly…  

_The hell with it._

Within moments, he’d found one of the phials and downed it, shuddering slightly at its bitterness.

“Disgusting, aren’t they?”

Severus whirled at the cheerful voice from the doorway, scowling at the pink-haired woman he saw there. Her grin faded slightly.

“Hey, I’m only saying. You look like you could use it, though.”

“What are you doing here, Nymphadora?” hissed Severus.

“It’s Tonks, Professor,” she said irritably. “Anyway… I just got off duty in Hogsmeade; I figured I’d see if Dumbledore needed anything. And, er… well, I heard about the Slytherins,” she finished quietly. “It’s true, then.”

“Obviously,” Severus snapped, in no mood for false pity.

“Yeah, well, I’m—we’ll be keeping our ears out in the Ministry, if you don’t hear anything your end. Just thought you should know.”

“Is there a particular reason that you felt the need to torment me in person?”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Tonks defensively. “I just thought—never mind.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I saw Professor McGonagall on the way down, that’s all. She said you and Dumbledore weren’t talking. God, I’m sorry I tried to do you a favour.”  

Severus nearly gaped at her. He couldn’t believe Minerva had said anything— _that was private, dammit_ —but then, of course, there were rarely secrets amongst the women of the Order. He fixed Tonks with a scowl, and made a mental note to catch Minerva after dinner.

“Save your consideration for your werewolf,” he said coldly, pleased to see that he struck a nerve; Tonks stiffened in indignation. “I’m told animals enjoy such things.”

“Leave Remus out of this, Snape—“ she started, but Severus did not linger to hear her; he swept from the room in a fit of grim satisfaction. Clumsy and garrulous though she was, she was good Auror stock—harder to disturb than most, which he had learnt early on, to his annoyance. For her to be genuinely upset meant that her recent attempts for Lupin were going very badly indeed, and he was not at all sorry for calling her on it. She had no right to come here and rub his nose in the loss of his Slytherins, none whatsoever.

And Minerva had no right to go shouting about his private business to the rest of the Order. Merlin, she’d be telling Molly he’d been bawling after the Welcome Feast next.

_Well, you were,_ said the nasty voice in the back of his mind. He pushed it aside and scowled. She had no idea what it was like, looking out at a half-empty classroom and wondering how many of those missing were soon to be dead, if they weren’t already—she had probably enjoyed not having them in class!

Likely, too, she believed he knew more than he was letting on, Severus thought angrily. As if he would conceal something of such importance…. As if he wasn’t worried more than most that he, supposedly so trusted by the Dark Lord, had heard neither of any plans to press the Slytherins into service, nor had any word from the Death Eaters’ camp now that the deed had been done.

The thought made his stomach swoop in anxiety; he cast a quick glance around to ensure he was alone and rolled up his left sleeve. The scar on his forearm was as faded as it typically was, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether this might, for the first time, have made him more afraid than when it burned black.

He covered the ugly mark quickly and stalked to his office. He had enough time to start his potions for Poppy before dinner—and then, he thought grimly, then he would find Minerva.

Whatever this bad business with his Slytherins, she had to keep her nose out of it.

* * *

“To another year, then.”

“May the dull moments be few.”

“Ah, scratch that, Rolanda, our classes can be far too exciting already,” said Pomona.

“Very well. May our classes be dull and our _Quidditch_ exciting.”

Aurora shook her head. “That seems a bit moot, doesn’t it?” she said delicately. “It’s already about as exciting as any sport can be.”

“Oy, now, don’t have a go at it simply because you don’t—”

“TO ANOTHER YEAR!” roared Filius, raising his glass in a salute and promptly toppling from his stack of cushions.

Despite herself, Minerva had to fight a grin. Everyone became significantly less professional after a flagon of Rosmerta’s Finest Mead or two, and Filius was notoriously bad at holding his liquor. It seemed very much as though they always fought over the same toasts from year to year, as well, though she was almost tempted to cause a stir and start drinking to their sanity instead.

She put down her goblet. “Are you all right, Filius?”

“Fine!” he squeaked from somewhere on the other side of his chair. Pomona craned her neck to look at him.

“You’ll feel that in the morning, I expect… but never mind. It’s all right, Minerva, he’s only a hundred years young.”

“God forbid,” she muttered. “I don’t think I’ve had that much energy in years, and he’s got several decades on me.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Pomona airily, “You just haven’t found your second wind yet… not that you need it; you don’t look a day over forty-five.”

“Thank you, Pomona,” said Minerva wryly.

“No, it’s true. Besides, that doesn’t mean a thing—ages are all relative, anyway. Look at Severus. He might as well be twice what he is.”

“Here, now, don’t be harsh,” slurred Filius as he picked himself up off the rug. “He’s had a rough life. ‘Sno wonder he looks a bit older… Of course, I haven’t seen any of his class in ages.”

“Alice McCurran was asking about him a few weeks ago,” said Pomona.

Aurora tilted her head in interest. “Alice? The Ravenclaw that was always running around with Glenda Chittock’s gang? I liked her—have you been in contact all this time?”

“Only recently,” said Pomona, a slight flush spreading over her face, which quickly dissolved into a grin. “Ansel was engaged to her last week.”

It was clear she had been bursting to share the news; a moment of silence greeted her pronouncement, followed by hearty congratulations on all sides.

“Oh, Pomona, that’s wonderful!”

“I can’t believe you kept it from us this long!”

“He’s your nephew, is that right?” said Bathsheda, looking up from her card game with Charity and Septima in the corner.

Pomona beamed. “Yes—his mother kept him for home education, though; it’s a shame you never met him…. He met Alice last year at some conference or another, and they’d been seeing each other since. Oh, Poppy is going to kill me for telling it when she’s not in the room,” she added anxiously, but Septima shook her head.

“It’s all right. We won’t say a word until you do.”

“Speaking of Poppy,” said Minerva quickly, as Charity opened her mouth to undoubtedly begin her high-pitched giggling, “I’m afraid I must follow her example—there’s simply too much to do. Same time next year then, I suppose…. Congratulations again, Pomona. Pass on my best wishes to them both.”

She waved at the chorus of “goodnights” and left, trying to think of some reason to delay her meeting with Albus further, but she was unable to do so. Rather, the memory of Severus’s dejected face from the night before turned her steps towards Albus’s office instead of her own, and she set her jaw grimly.

If this was going to be as uncomfortable for her as she expected, she could at least make sure Albus felt the same. 

* * *

Severus waited until he had safely set aside his stirring rod and lowered the flame underneath the cauldron before mopping at his face; he had seen far too many potions ruined by an errant drop of sweat not to be cautious about accidentally contaminating his equipment. True, Pepperup was relatively simple, and he was not very far along in the process, but he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with a wasted batch of potions at the moment.

Pulling up a stool to wait for it to boil, he glanced at the clock and nearly snorted with annoyance; it was late, too late for dinner or to catch Minerva before she returned to her office. While he was saved the trouble of avoiding Albus’s eyes in the Great Hall, Severus really had hoped to be finished with Poppy’s potions by now, and the fact that he hadn’t managed it did nothing for the anxiety gnawing at his stomach.

He frowned and resisted the urge to roll up his left sleeve again. The mark would not have changed; it had not burned, or itched, or caused him any sort of feeling to give him pause whatsoever; had he not known better, he would have thought the Dark Lord had disappeared for good and taken the mark with him.

It was a very foolish idea, of course. The Dark Lord was alive and stronger than ever. But there was still the horrible thought of being… cut off. Exposed as a spy, left in ignorance until the Dark Lord saw fit to deal with him, the silence broken only by a call that would be his last…

He shook himself and made a point of staring into the potion—no bubbles yet—but he could not settle his nerves. He desperately wanted to contact Lucius, and had even fetched a quill from the other end of his workbench before remembering that Lucius was in Azkaban.

He let the quill fall back onto the table. If he could not contact Lucius, there was little point in trying to get information from anyone else; his best allies, if they could be called such, were also in Azkaban, and those that were free and likely knew something about the Slytherins were unlikely to tell him anything if the Dark Lord had not bothered to do so. Unless… well, Narcissa was not directly involved, but she very well could know something… and she was slightly more trustworthy—

A loud hissing interrupted his thoughts; the Pepperup looked nearly about to boil over. He leapt from his seat with a muffled curse and hurried to stir it, thankfully in time to salvage it, but he was disgruntled all the same. Only two batches in, and already distracted beyond belief…

_Two left_ , he told himself. _Two more._ _Fever tonic and burn salve. That’s it._ And then… what? Relax? The idea was laughable. Sit and worry until he nodded off from exhaustion, more like.

He sighed and reached for the asphodel. Somehow, he was glad there was still work to be done.

* * *

“Minerva, my dear. Come in.”

She could tell something was very wrong before she had even stepped into the office; Albus’s voice was heavy with anxiety in a most un-Albuslike way. She pushed aside her own concerns at the moment and frowned at the letter clutched loosely in his hands.

“Albus, what is it?”

He set the parchment aside. “It seems our recent change of regime has not prevented the Ministry from contacting me at all hours,” he said wearily.

“Ach, those hypocrites; I _knew_ Scrimgeour should not have been—”

“He is a good man,” said Albus mildly, “and I am grateful that, at least in this case, he and Fudge have decided to keep me directly informed. There has been another mass breakout from Azkaban.”

Minerva gasped. “Already? I know it was only a matter of time, what with You-Know-Who out in the open, but surely—”

“He is moving quickly, Minerva—almost more so than I would have expected. After all, he has had an entire year to lie in wait and plan. He did not mean to fail in the Ministry last June, but he would have prepared for failure nonetheless; in any case, he could not have remained hidden for much longer.”

“Well, he’s certainly making up for it now,” Minerva said before she could stop herself. “He got all of them out, then? Lucius Malfoy and the rest?”

Albus nodded. “Yes—quite curious, considering he is likely still angry with them for their failure in the Department of Mysteries, but then, as he seems intent on building an army so soon—” the thought of the missing Slytherin students hung in the room, unspoken—“it would be more prudent for him to regain their service than to punish them by keeping them locked away and useless.”

“Let me guess,” started Minerva wryly. “The Ministry has no idea how it happened.”

“Yes and no. It was a very well planned attack; they were fortunate, I think, that control of Azkaban is not one of Voldemort’s more immediate goals. He would have taken it easily—they were inside and gone again before anyone knew they were there. The guards had no warning whatsoever.” Albus’s forehead creased in a frown. “I wonder that Severus did not—”

“Severus did not know,” said Minerva firmly. “I’m sure of it. He would have said something, Albus, you know he would have… just like with the Slytherins,” she added cautiously, watching the lines of Albus’s face to gauge his reaction. “He didn’t know anything before the deed was done, and unless he’s told you something I don’t know, he still doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“That is not particularly comforting, Minerva.”

“You don’t mean to say that you don’t believe him?” she said, incredulous.

“No—I do. But if Voldemort is withholding information, he clearly is being more careful about the possibility of a spy in his ranks. Let us hope that Severus’s recent lack of inclusion in his plans is more a general precautionary measure than direct suspicion.”

“Of course,” agreed Minerva, unsettled, wondering how she should continue; confronting Albus Dumbledore had never been one of her favourite pastimes. “But—Albus, I don’t mean this the way it’s going to sound, but—if he’s under so much pressure from You-Know-Who, it—it would be best if you—oh, Albus, for heaven’s sake, he needs your support.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “I would like to think that I have done my best, where he is concerned—”

“I highly doubt Severus would agree,” said Minerva sharply. “I know you have had your disagreements in the past, Albus, but with your stance on the Slytherins—I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“As I have told him, I am doing what I can.”

“Which is _what_? You certainly seem in no hurry to recover them,” she said, quite aware that she was likely being both unfair and hypocritical, “and I—well, I cannot say that the day did not go many times more smoothly without them—but they are our _students!_ Regardless of their creed, or their parents’—”

“Minerva, I _know_ they are our responsibility. Severus seems unwilling to believe me—”

“I can’t imagine why!”

“—but I cannot do anything until I know the full extent of the situation. He knows this,” said Albus, impatience plain in his voice now. Minerva bit her lip in an attempt to calm herself.

“I know he does, deep down,” she said finally, quietly, “and I do as well. I just can’t help but wonder, Albus, whether knowing the _full extent of the situation_ is for their benefit, or your own.”

Albus’s eyes were the only things betraying his resentment; Minerva hated herself for causing it.

“Minerva, my dear, that is not fair.”

“No. No, it is not. I—do not look at me like that, Albus, I know things cannot always work out as we wish on all fronts, that sacrifices sometimes must be made for the greater good—but I’m asking you to reconsider your opinion. There must be a way to make a greater effort towards the Slytherins without putting your grand scheme at risk. For Severus’s sake, if not theirs.”

“Whatever his objections, Severus is well aware—”

“Severus has had just about enough,” snapped Minerva suddenly; she longed to leave the room, to retreat before she said anything worse, but she knew she could not, yet. Not before she made good on her word to Severus. “And so have I, Albus. We allow you to lead us and use us because you are a good man, and the best hope we have, but that does _not_ mean we cannot see your machinations—for whatever good they may be intended. But I warn you now: if you push Severus much further, he will give out, or give up, and then what will become of your plans?”

Albus remained silent, and Minerva could not tell if he was seriously considering her words or simply waiting for her to finish ranting. Nonetheless, she ploughed onwards.

“He needs your support now more than ever—and I know you cannot give it, not fully—but for heaven’s sake, must you make things more difficult? Why on _earth_ did you wait until this morning to tell us you were making yet another exception for Potter being in his class? It’s no wonder he thought you were deliberately antagonising him.”

Albus sighed. “I admit, my delay was not wise, though there was no real way to broach the subject without causing disagreement.”

“Not wise? I see no reason for Potter to be in Potions at all! He missed the required marks, and the likelihood of him surviving long enough to become an Auror is—”

“Less than most even know, but there is no reason to give up, to not allow him to plan for the future. The idea that he has something to work towards, after all of this, can certainly not go amiss.”

“And you do so by placing him in a class where he does not belong, where both he and Severus will be miserable?”

“They have tolerated each other for five years. One or two more will not break either of them.”

Minerva snorted. “Even you cannot seriously claim that.”

“I can hope.”

“Albus, do not make this difficult! Severus has more objections than I; what will you tell him, once he decides to raise them? You cannot continue to dismiss his concerns!”

“Minerva…”

“Albus, please. For once, stop being so damn noble, and see to those that depend on you. This is not as it was with me—there are more than personal feelings at stake, this time. As it is, you have already pushed Severus too far. Please, just give him what victories you can.”

“You know I will, Minerva. When I can.”

Minerva stared at him for a long moment, incensed beyond belief. It was ridiculous; did he really believe his own judgment was so faultless, to keep dismissing the matter? Had he been working towards the greater good for so long that he could no longer see the strife his agendas often caused for others—or did he no longer care? Minerva suppressed a scathing noise with difficulty.

“I take that to mean you’re not going change a thing?” she said finally, though she didn’t really mean it as a question; as she feared, Albus said nothing. Unable to bear the stubborn gleam in his eyes, she turned and left without another word.

She hadn’t really expected him to have done with his irritation with Severus yet—after all, she doubted that Severus was in any hurry to talk to _him_ —but still, his blatant refusal to see reason was absurd.  Hadn’t he hired her, years ago, as an advisor? Someone to help mediate conflicts with the staff?

_Of course, I should have realised that it doesn’t apply to_ him, she thought bitterly; _rules rarely do._ And it wasn’t as though she had been telling him to do anything rash—for Merlin’s sake, she was barely asking for more than courtesy!

She sighed and abruptly switched directions halfway to her rooms. It wasn’t late, per se, but she wouldn’t likely be able to settle to anything, and she was far too riled to try turning in early. No doubt Poppy was still awake, though, and she would have plenty of sleeping draughts at hand… yes… anything that prevented her from thinking of Albus for the rest of the night was fine with her.

* * *

“Ah, Severus, good; I was wondering when you were going to bring up the rest,” said Poppy, clearing a space for him to set the crate of freshly brewed potions. “Not that there was any hurry, mind you,” she added quickly. “I know you’re a busy man.”

“Your stock of potions has always been my responsibility. That will not change.”

“I know,” said Poppy, “and, as always, I am grateful. It’s only—well, I thought that this year, what with—things—if you ever need any help, Severus, I can manage myself—”

He silenced her with a glare. “I will have far less to do as far as my House is concerned, and significantly less essays to mark. I am perfectly capable of supplying you as I have always done.”

“I—I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t,” she said uneasily, “but—oh, never mind. I’m sorry I said anything.”

Severus fought back a stab of irritation; she was, in truth, a kind and invaluable ally, and she didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his temper no matter what her meddling tendencies.  He swallowed his intended snide remark and helped her unpack the crate instead.

“Will you be needing anything else?”

Poppy shook her head. “Not any time soon, unless someone manages to do something _supremely_ stupid—”

“Next week at the latest, then.”

“—but otherwise, I should be fine, thank you...Minerva! What can I do for you?”

Severus looked around at the door; he had not heard Minerva enter. She looked tired and harassed, but now would be as good a time as any to speak with her—no point in waiting until she was in a better mood, only to ruin it. She nodded to him and smiled at Poppy.

“A sleeping draught, if you don’t mind,” she said. “And—I don’t know if you’ve seen Pomona?”

“Yes,” said Poppy, beaming. “She stopped by—oh, about a half hour ago. It’s wonderful!”

“I’m sorry?” said Severus, looking between them.

“Her nephew,” Minerva explained. “He’s just been engaged.”

Severus was nonplussed. He did not know much about Pomona’s family, nor was he keen to learn anything more; neither was he particularly enamoured of marriage. He no longer knew what to feel every time he heard of a new matching or saw a married couple—if their expectations of love were little more than illusions, at least they were pleasant illusions. And if it was real…well, they were one more pair with a happiness he had never had, and probably never would.

“That’s… I’ll have to ask her to pass on my congratulations,” he said finally, hoping he did not sound as unenthusiastic as he felt; judging by Poppy’s expression, he was failing quite miserably.   

She waved him away from her shelves. “Off with you. I can handle the rest,” she said, indicating the crate. He stole a glance at Minerva and hesitated; it did not seem as though she had any intention of leaving immediately—after all, she still needed her potion—but he still wanted to speak with her sooner rather than later. Hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck, he nodded to her and left as slowly as he dared, listening to Poppy muttering something about “men” and “never understanding these things.”

He scowled as the door fell shut behind him and he leaned against the wall to wait for Minerva. Well, he _didn’t_ understand—what was the point in being so damnably giggly about some ceremony, especially at their age? He knew himself well enough to know he was long past any thoughts of marriage, and they had to feel the same—though, come to think of it, he’d never bothered to learn whether they had ever considered it at some point in their lives.

Thankfully, the door creaked within minutes, pulling him from his brooding, and Minerva jumped upon seeing him.

“I’m sorry, Severus—I didn’t realise you were waiting for me! Are you—is everything all right?”

“No,” he said, rather more shortly than he’d intended. “No, it is not. I spoke to Nymphadora earlier today.”

Minerva looked startled. “She saw you? She told me she only wanted to report to Albus.”

“And you told her about our row,” said Severus, unable to keep himself from snapping at her. “That is none of her business. You had no right.”

“I did no such thing,” said Minerva, “and, really, it’s not as though it wouldn’t be expected. She asked whether you had said much to us, and when I told her no, she assumed that meant you and Albus were probably arguing about it privately.”

“You didn’t bother to correct her, though, did you?”

“What was I supposed to do, Severus? I confirmed that you and Albus hadn’t talked recently. Nothing more.”

“What you were _supposed to do_ is keep your nose out of my business, Minerva, not help Nymphadora along the way!”

“ _Your_ business? So it’s not mine, as well? For heaven’s sake, Severus, last night—”

“Last night I was not myself,” he hissed, shamed by the memory, but more so by seeing Minerva’s eyes widen in hurt. “I was—worried, you know I was; I didn’t know what the hell was going on—I still don’t—but the point is, you haven’t got the slightest idea either. You had _no right_ to say _anything_ to _anyone_ about any of this!”

Minerva recovered herself quickly. “Very well, so I _don’t_ know what’s going on,” she said coolly, drawing herself up to her full height, “but it’s no less than you. Unless—?” She nodded to his arm.

Severus involuntarily gripped the place where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin and scowled; he needed no reminder of his greatest worry. “I haven’t heard a thing,” he hissed. “But if that should change—damn it, Minerva, this is far too dangerous to be—”

“I am aware of that.”

“The hell you are!” he spat. “You’ve got to stay out of this, Minerva. It’s going to be complicated enough for me to get hold of the Slytherins’ real position without getting us all killed. Do _not_ make it more difficult.”

“They’re my students too, Severus.”

He barely suppressed a snort. “Don’t try that,” he snarled. “Don’t pretend you give a damn what happens to them, just like Albus—”

“And don’t _you_ dare pretend you know what I feel towards them, or you, or anyone else in this castle!” Minerva snapped right back, her composure finally slipping; Severus was momentarily startled by her vehemence. She looked so very tired and distressed, even more so than he had expected—perhaps he had miscalculated? But surely she couldn’t have known and loved his Slytherins as well as he…

He searched for something to say, but could not find it before she continued.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Severus, I’m on your side. I _want_ them to be all right. I want you to come back from You-Know-Who bringing all of them with you, without _him_ being any the wiser. If you could all be safe—”

“I’m glad you’ve learnt Albus’s talent for saying exactly what you think people want to hear.”

“I fought with him for an hour on your behalf tonight. An _hour_ , Severus!”

“I—that’s—” he faltered, seeing the unnatural brightness in her eyes; it was becoming all too clear why she was upset, and he was aware that he was looking more foolish by the second. He hated being made to look foolish.

“That’s your own affair,” he snapped finally. “I did not ask for your help.”

“ _Fine!_ ” shouted Minerva. “Fine! Keep pretending you can do it all on your own, then! Keep fighting with Albus, and see where it gets you—!”

“If you think I can just let this go—”

“—and don’t you _dare_ come complaining, after you’re deliberately making things difficult! Either you want our help or you don’t, Severus, but _stop_ pushing us away and then acting like we’re against you. For heaven’s sake, we should be working together!”

“I—” Severus found himself uncharacteristically lost for words; Minerva looked on the verge of tears, her hands balled into fists and trembling, but he could remember few other situations in which he had felt genuinely frightened of her. “I don’t—no—he—he doesn’t want—”

“Oh, I am sick to death of the both of you!” she said fiercely. “You’re both so— _bloody—stubborn!_ ”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs, leaving Severus utterly taken aback.

_What the_ hell _was that?_ he thought dazedly. All right, so perhaps he _shouldn’t_ have pushed her, after having seen that she was clearly agitated—but then, Minerva was not usually one to be hysterical. And how was he to have known she’d fought with Albus? It was simply… unfortunate timing.

He scowled and headed for his dungeons. Why did his best ally at the moment have to be the one person he managed to infuriate on nearly a daily basis?  

_And why the hell do I care?_


	4. Summonings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Seriously, nothing. Someone tell JKR to buy me dinner with her HP monies; I'm out of food for this week.
> 
> 2011 throwback fanfic, part 4. X-posted.

For the first time in nearly ten years, Minerva had very seriously considered abandoning her usual place at the breakfast table in favour of less provocative company; while she had been at odds with Albus many times, and was nearly always so with Severus, she didn’t think she could handle the cold shoulder from both of them at once. There were few chairs left by the time she arrived, however, and the space between them was silent and terse as it was, so she steeled herself for an awkward morning and took her seat nonetheless.

Her eyes narrowed upon seeing the teacup. It was centred at her place so she could not miss it, still steaming hot and prepared exactly to her standards—strong, with a dash of cream—and she debated asking Severus whether he thought this was a subtle way of slipping her some sort of potion before she remembered that she was not speaking to him. It _was_ undoubtedly him who had left it for her—she could feel him trying to catch her eye—but she refused to indulge him. True, he likely meant it as some sort of apology, but he showed no signs of wanting to speak with Albus again, and the headmaster was ignoring them both, entirely too involved in spreading marmalade on his toast.

Fine. She could be just as stubborn. It was so _stupid_ , really—they’d have to talk to each other at some point; she didn’t understand why Albus, at least, didn’t try to hurry it along. Of course, judging from Severus’s description, the two of them hadn’t had a row as bad in a long time, and she certainly hadn’t disagreed with Albus so seriously in years, but still…

This could not happen now. There were far bigger things to worry about. Unless—unless Albus was trying to postpone taking action with the Slytherins, and their arguments had provided a convenient excuse not to do so?

The thought startled her; when had she become so suspicious? Shaking her head, she looked around for something to distract herself—still carefully avoiding the men on either side of her—and her eyes fell on an abandoned copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

Albus did not protest at her extracting it from his side of the table, so she did not feel at all sorry about flipping away from the half-finished crossword in search of something more substantial. She scanned the pages quickly, unsurprised by the overlarge headlines announcing the mass breakout from Azkaban, but she settled for perusing the articles anyway. It was the standard-issue tripe for crises, naturally…

She managed to make it halfway through the page before Severus’s incessant staring became unbearable.

“ _What?_ ” she hissed in an undertone, still refusing to look at him.

“You knew about the breakout,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“When—?”

“Last night.”

“But—how—?”

“Later, Severus, please.”

To her surprise, he fell silent again immediately; she almost regretted being short with him, but she caught herself before she turned to meet his eyes. Despite knowing that he needed a friend now more than ever, her irritation with him had not quite abated; he clearly considered her an ally, but he _had_ to stop being so stubborn. Not that she expected that to change much, but she was growing rather tired of being pushed aside and snarled at whenever he fell into one of his moods, refusing to acknowledge or accept help or friendship from others.

No, she reflected, he could wait a while—he was a clever man, and would surely be able to recognise why she was still exasperated, even if he felt she was being foolishly emotional. Albus, on the other hand…

She knew she was being foolish, but she couldn’t help but blame him for their current arguments. If he had just been willing to appease Severus, she wouldn’t have had to get involved... at least, not to this degree…

She ignored the teacup and reached for the pumpkin juice instead, draining it as quickly as possible before muttering an excuse to leave. She _was_ running rather later than usual, after all—but no one made a move to stop her, although she did get a questioning look from Pomona.

Minerva shook her head slightly in response. It wasn’t fair to the others, being kept in the dark like this—but she refused to say anything until she had something more certain to say, and Severus and Albus had to sort themselves out before that could happen. She resisted the urge to turn back and glare at them as she left, vowing instead to wait until after dinner to take them to task, if they hadn’t managed to speak to each other before then.

* * *

It was far too hot for September, Severus thought vaguely, glaring pointlessly at the sunny grounds as he trudged towards the greenhouses. Of course, he supposed his third years could have been less generous and ruined his entire stock of shrivelfigs when gathering replacements would require a trip through the rain or snow, but he almost would have preferred that. As it was now, the greenhouses would be nearly unbearable.  

Pomona looked surprised to see him, but gestured him inside nonetheless.

“Trouble already? Good thing I planted a few more last summer…. I’ve got a free period, so I can help if you’d like.”

Unwilling to spend more time than absolutely necessary in the stifling room, Severus nodded, and they set to the stunted trees immediately. Pomona eyed him sternly from beneath her hat.

“This’ll be nearly the last lot until spring. Dare I even ask what happened to the others?”

Severus scowled. “Idiot third years. Someone left the entire basket uncovered—naturally, just in the perfect place to be victim to a failed potion. I think it’s a new record, having to evacuate the second day of classes.”

“Nonsense,” Pomona said. “Horace had three in the hospital wing on the first day, years ago.”

“Slughorn always did have a knack for ignoring those that needed the most help. It was rather dangerous of him.”

Pomona raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re just exceptionally good at your job.”

Severus was not used to such blatant praise, even if his position as Potions Master had long since earned him the professional respect of his colleagues. He narrowed his eyes and hoped that the heat in his cheeks could be blamed on the greenhouse.

“That is doubtful,” he said gruffly, “considering the complete lack of influence I seem to have had over the members of my own house.”

“They’ll turn up,” said Pomona, though she did not sound at all convinced of her words and eyed him nervously. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Dumbledore has a fair idea of what to do already, and he just hasn’t shared it with us yet.”

It did not occur to Severus to correct her; it would not be worth the trouble, in any case, and he was not about to start explaining Order business to someone who had wanted to stay out of it. He settled for a noncommittal noise instead, and began reaching for the shrivelfigs with renewed vigour—it was more important than ever to get out of this muggy room with this ignorant colleague, before he said something he should not.

“I heard last night that—er, Minerva told me your nephew was engaged, is that correct?” he said, racking his brains for anything to change the subject. Pomona seemed surprised he had mentioned it, but pleased nonetheless, and he was saved from commenting much more as she recited several anecdotes and details that he only half-heard.

“—but I don’t expect she’s said anything since?” finished Pomona shrewdly.

“I’m sorry?” said Severus, slightly ashamed and irritated that he had been caught not paying attention.

Pomona’s smile was a bit too knowing for his taste, and she had the gall to not even call him on it. “Minerva. It was her that told you, yes? I was just saying that you probably haven’t heard much from her beyond that.”

“No. It…hasn’t come up again.”

Pomona nodded. “No, I don’t expect it would have, seeing as it’s rather difficult to discuss something with somebody when you’re not speaking to each other.”

Severus opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business, and abruptly shut it again. He supposed, given her close friendship with Minerva, that anything having to do with her _was_ , in fact, of some concern; besides, Pomona had long since stopped being aggravated by his sharpness with her, and, in true badger fashion, she knew very well when to bite back herself. Much as he wished she would leave it alone, he had no wish to cross yet another of his tentative friends so soon.

She eyed him sternly, as though aware of his thoughts. “I’m not a fool, boy,” she barked. “There’s a bad business going on, and the three of you know more than you’re letting on—you and Minerva and the headmaster. I’m not going to pester, because if it’s any of my concern, I assume I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Pomona, I did not mean to imply—”

“Oh, _hush_. I’m not offended. But you saw the papers today. The cat’s among the pixies now, and it’s not helping, the three of you acting as you are. I haven’t seen the table so silent in years. Again, I don’t know what’s happening, and I’m not going to ask—but whatever it is, I suggest you get it sorted, and sooner rather than later.”

Severus bit his tongue, though he knew he could no longer blame his flushed face on the room or her flattery. _You’re criticising already?_ he thought crossly. If she could so easily claim to know nothing about it, why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

He threw the last few shrivelfigs into the basket with more force than necessary, but Pomona caught his sleeve as he made to leave, her features softening.

“Don’t be angry, lad,” she said quietly. “I’m not passing judgment. Just something to think about.”

Severus nodded tersely as he shook off her grasp, unsure of just how irritated he was, and unwilling to damage their tenuous relationship further. He occupied himself with levitating the basket and left without another word.

_Trust me, Pomona, I’ve thought about it_ , he thought bitterly.

* * *

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…just take it, girl, it won’t harm you,” said Minerva irritably.

“Quite the opposite, in fact, Miss Deegan,” affirmed Poppy, shooting Minerva a warning look. “One glass and you may go.”

The small blonde girl eyed the proffered potion with mistrust—privately, Minerva couldn’t blame her; it was a truly awful shade of green—before finally taking the goblet with shaking hands and downing it. She looked for a moment as though she were about to be sick, but then abruptly brightened and turned to Poppy in surprise.

“What did I tell you? Now, just a minute—” Poppy said, muttering a few diagnostic spells under her breath, while the girl fidgeted— “All right. Good as new. You’re free to go.”

Miss Deegan didn’t need telling twice. With a mumbled “thanks,” she had grabbed her bag and scampered from the room before Poppy could even offer a Jelly Slug.

“I love first years,” Poppy sighed.

Minerva rubbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. “I do apologise for that, Poppy. I have absolutely no idea how she managed to give herself the extra hand. That’s never happened with a first year before.”

“Look on the bright side; she’ll be a wonder at human Transfiguration in a few years, once she’s managed to control her magic a bit more and learnt the theory.”

“I suppose,” Minerva agreed unhappily. “That is, if her aim improves as well. I would say it’s difficult to miss a matchstick on your desk, but—”

“—but we both know better. Remember the one boy that turned his fingers into needles?”

“Don’t remind me,” said Minerva darkly. “I swear, it’s every other year there’s an incident in the first class.”

Poppy shrugged. “Incentive for the others not to mess about, then,” she said. “Really, Minerva, don’t worry. I’m not all that busy yet—and it’s good to meet the new students, though it’d be nice if they’d stop assuming I was trying to poison them,” she finished, disgruntled.

“Blame Severus. He scarred them all first thing yesterday morning.”

Poppy shook her head. “I daresay he enjoys that entirely too much.”

Minerva thought it best not to comment. She didn’t think she could be held responsible for what else might come out of her mouth in relation to that man—well, him and one other—at the moment. The thought set her head to pounding more forcefully, and she winced.

“I don’t suppose you could spare something for a headache, Poppy?” she asked. “I’ve had one all day—I’m afraid I still didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Of course,” said Poppy. “You should have said something earlier; it’s just an Invigoration Draught—oh, damn,” she swore quietly, rummaging in one of her cabinets. “I don’t believe it—I _knew_ I’d forgotten to ask Severus for _somethin_ g—”

She straightened up and sighed, cheeks pink and looking rather sheepish. “I’m sorry, Minerva, I could have sworn I’d had it restocked. I’ll put Severus on it right away and send it up; he might already have some in his stores.”

“Oh, no, it’s all right,” said Minerva firmly; whatever her discomfort, she would take it over dealing with Severus for the time being. “I might still have a vial or two in my office…”

Poppy eyed her doubtfully, but let it go. “If you’re sure, then. But let me know if you change your mind. I should call him about it anyway; I’m sure I could have it before long.”

Minerva bid her farewell as the mediwitch reached for the Floo powder; much as she was loath to admit it, she was probably going to need it soon—preferably before she worked up the nerve to confront either of her colleagues again. 

* * *

“That will be fifty points apiece from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Get out of my sight.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and winced as the door slammed behind the last of his hapless students. Either he was getting to be dangerously lacking in classroom vigilance, or this year’s groups were determined to forget everything he’d ever taught them. Honestly, his fourth years should have known how to properly brew a Hair-Raising Potion without killing anyone by now; half the second years could manage it on the first try!

He sighed and stalked to his office, glad his classes were finished for the day. No sooner had he wondered what the hell he was going to do to occupy himself before dinner than his fireplace flared green.

“Severus, are you there?”

He glared upon seeing the matron’s face in the flames. “You’re lucky I let the last class go early. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you come through and we’ll discuss it?”

“Very well,” he said, though his eyes narrowed as she vanished again with a small _pop_. She had a nasty tendency for asking things of him that he didn’t like when she specifically asked to see him in her domain.

“Well, what is it?” he said, once he had joined her. She helped him out of her grate and ignored the glare he sent her for it, amused.

“You let your class go early? Heavens, what did they do?”

“I’d rather not go into it, if you don’t mind,” he growled. “Suffice it to say you are _extremely_ lucky not to have half of this ward filled.”

Poppy nodded. “Say no more.”

“What was it you wanted?”

Poppy handed him two phials; he recognised them as part of his recent deliveries to her and raised an eyebrow. She eyed him sternly.

“One’s for you. I suggest you take it, Professor Snape, given that even _you_ cannot deny an Invigoration Draught would do you good.”

Under her forbidding stare, he drank it and was not surprised to notice his aches and weariness vanish, though he favoured her with a slight sneer for good measure. “If you are quite finished wasting your stock on someone who is quite capable of brewing his own—”

“—The other’s for Minerva. She came by and requested some.”

“And what the devil has this to do with me?”

“It needs to be delivered to her office.”

It took Severus a full several seconds to formulate a response to this, unsure of whether he had understood her correctly. “Excuse me?”

“I told her I would send her up a bottle when I could.”

“And why should I be your errand boy?”

“Because when she stopped in, I told her I’d check with you to see if you had any, and have… it…” Poppy trailed off, her cheeks reddening as she realised her error. Severus pounced on it, smirking.

“You _lied?_ ”

“Minerva needs that potion. Since she didn’t get it while she was here, I’m sending it to her,” said Poppy loftily, avoiding his eyes.

“Isn’t that against your Healer’s Code?”

“ _Go_ — _take_ — _it_ — _to—her_ ,” Poppy snapped, shunting him out the door before he could protest further. Severus’s smirk vanished as soon as it slammed behind him.

The last thing he needed was Poppy getting into this, as well. All right, so she could easily tell when someone was strained; but that was nothing new, and, had Minerva had the sense to drink the tea he’d prepared for her, Poppy’s services would not have even been necessary, he thought bitterly. Still, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to help—but she had no right to send him off anywhere. Far from not being her messenger, he was certain Minerva still had no desire to see him, and showing up at her door would only make things worse—forcing them to interact more than absolutely necessary was surely a horrible judgment call on Poppy’s part.

Scowling, he glanced at the phial in his hand and directed his steps towards Minerva’s study anyway. It was her own affair if she chose to keep snubbing him; he’d tried to apologise. He was perfectly entitled to make a professional call.

_Knock, give her the potion, and leave_ , he told himself. _Keep your damn mouth shut_.

He wished he didn’t already know that it was easier said than done.

“Enter,” Minerva called briskly, once he’d tapped on her door. Predictably, her face hardened when she noticed him.

“Professor Snape.”

“Poppy wanted this delivered,” he said shortly, placing the phial on her desk. _Good. Just turn around and leave._

Minerva’s eyes widened in surprise. “Already? I only returned a few minutes ago. Speaking of which,” she added, frowning at her clock, “aren’t you supposed to be teaching a class?”

“There was an incident—they’ve been dismissed. And I’ll have you know that your dear friend Poppy lied.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She had your potion all along.” Severus smirked at the indignation stamped on Minerva’s features.

“Why, of all things…” she muttered. “Oh, never mind. Thank you, Severus. I’ve needed this all day.”

Figuring he had already dispensed with his plan to leave immediately, Severus couldn’t resist cocking an eyebrow. “Indeed. Granted, you might _not_ have needed it if you had drunk your tea this morning…” he muttered.

“Ah. I thought that was you.”

“Afraid it was poison?” sneered Severus.

“Of course not. Suffice it to say I was not in a mood to accept favours,” said Minerva stiffly. “It was rather foolish of me, I’m afraid, but there you are.”

Severus nodded, recognising her acknowledgement of his apology, and the offering of her own. “Yes. Well. I’d keep that in mind in the future—I’ve no wish to go running around making Poppy’s deliveries.”

“Yes,” said Minerva, frowning. “Why didn’t she give it to me immediately, if she’d had it? And why make _you_ deliver it?”

“Undoubtedly she thinks it an acceptable way to try and force us to reconcile,” said Severus drily, in complete agreement with the look of exasperation that passed over Minerva’s face.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Well, I suppose it’s worked, though, hasn’t it?”

“Unfortunately,” he admitted. He didn’t understand why he should feel lighter at the way the corners of her mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile, but he abandoned thoughts of leaving altogether and took the seat that she indicated without protest.

“Tea?”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” she replied, abruptly more serious again. “We have a few things to discuss.” She pointed to a letter half-folded on her desk. “Albus wants to see us after dinner.”

“I was not aware of it.” Severus’s mind was reeling with questions. What was the old man playing at? He surely didn’t think he would have a better chance of convincing them of his view if they all met together? Judging by her thinned lips, Minerva didn’t look ready to forgive him, and Severus certainly was not.

She sighed. “I only just received the letter. I expect there’s one waiting for you.” She waited until they had each settled with a cup before continuing. “It could very well be about the school, of course, but I don’t think any of us believe our recent—differences of opinion—won’t come into it somehow. We have to be prepared.”

“I am. I’m not compromising about this, Minerva.”

“I know you’re not,” she said tiredly, “and, seeing how much I agree with you, I’m certainly not asking you to compromise—especially given Albus’s definition of the word.”

“Completely bowing to his wishes, you mean,” put in Severus.

Minerva glared at him, but did not comment on the bitterness in his voice. She fiddled with a stray strand of hair as she contemplated the letter again.

“Yes. However… please, _please_ do not antagonise him, Severus. If the subject comes up, just let him know your stance has not changed, and leave it at that. I plan on doing the same.” She took a fortifying breath. “I expect he has much more to say on… other topics… and all of us shouting at each other will not do any good, especially given the state of things.”

“Elaborate.”

Minerva shook her head. “Honestly, Severus… surely you’ve noticed that everyone is talking about the breakout.”

“I have, thank you,” he replied, bristling at her tone. “What I _don’t_ understand is how you apparently already knew about it before seeing the _Prophet_.”

“Albus, of course,” she said tersely. “When I saw him last night, he had just received word from the Ministry. I haven’t seen him so worried in a very long time.”

“And you didn’t tell me about this last night _why?_ ” said Severus, furious, though he regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Of course she had not thought to tell him; she had fought with Albus soon after learning the news, and then, almost immediately afterwards, with him.

“Never mind,” he growled sullenly, aware that he deserved every bit of the glare she turned on him. “Still… much as I would rather the lot of them rot in Azkaban forever… he had to have seen this coming. Half the inner circle was put away last June; to be honest, I’m surprised the Dark Lord waited this long to get them back.”

Minerva shook her head again. “But that’s just it. It’s not that Albus didn’t expect them to break out eventually—it’s that it happened so soon, and with absolutely no warning whatsoever. He was so sure that You-Know-Who was going to leave them there as punishment, until they were essential again… Honestly, I think Albus is afraid that You-Know-Who has got yet another major plan in the works, and that everything is moving far more quickly than expected because we just don’t know it.”

Severus was silent for a while. He was all too aware that the Dark Lord could have many more plans in action, all—provided those involved did their jobs—likely to succeed, because he had not been in on the secret. He was also aware that the Dark Lord was not stupid, and would undoubtedly begin to see a link between those major plans that succeeded, and those that did not involve Severus. His cover would be blown, if it hadn’t been already.

He put down his teacup for fear he might shatter it, suddenly sharing the headmaster’s worry tenfold. “He blames me, doesn’t he?” he said softly.

“I—what?” said Minerva.

“The headmaster. I had no idea any of this was coming—the Slytherins, Azkaban—who knows what else I’m missing? As if the others weren’t bad enough,” he added quickly. “I am not aware of any slips with the Dark Lord, but don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind recently. Of course Albus would be wondering the same.”

Minerva stared at him, her eyes calculating. “If you don’t believe you’ve slipped up, I see no reason to suggest otherwise,” she said slowly. “After all, you can likely read You-Know-Who better than anyone else.”

“That is not at all comforting, considering my complete lack of skill in that area. Just because I don’t think I’ve slipped up somewhere doesn’t mean I haven’t.”

It was Minerva’s turn to be silent, her face pensive as she tapped a finger against her cup. Severus inexplicably felt sorry for the worry he was causing her; he had never before considered the toll the war was taking on his colleague, but he could see, now that he was more directly involved with her, how heavily it weighed on her; her face had tautened, her posture—away from students’ eyes—not nearly as straight as before. He looked away in embarrassment as she caught him at his scrutiny.

“It’s nearly time for dinner. We should go.”

Minerva sighed and nodded her agreement. “I suppose it would not help our case if we were to be seen arriving together?”

“Unlikely,” he affirmed. “After all, we have every right not to be on good terms at the moment.”

“True. I did notice fifty points missing from Gryffindor earlier today.”

“They destroyed my supply of shrivelfigs!”

“Do I look like I’m accusing you of unfairness?”

“It is not unheard of.”

She sniffed and pointed him out of her office. “After you.”

* * *

Dinner was largely the silent affair of the other two meals of the day; even Charity and Bathsheda’s gossip was muted, though whether because they noticed anything was amiss or because Septima and Aurora kept shushing them and shooting nervous glances towards the centre of the table was anyone’s guess. Thankfully, the student body was rambunctious enough to cover the awkward silence, and also too occupied with their chatter to notice the uneasy looks shared at the High Table when Albus rose and swept from the room, Minerva and Severus in tow.

“Please sit,” said the headmaster curtly, barring the door to his office behind them. When they had done so, he stared at them in turn, his eyes devoid of their usual twinkle. “I trust, though we have not recently seen eye to eye regarding our young Slytherins, that I can still depend on you to work in the school’s best interests?”

Severus nodded, though his jaw was clenched against the harsh retort that threatened to burst from his lips; Minerva said, “Naturally.”

“Good. I trust you are also aware that I have been doing a great deal of travelling this summer,” said Albus. “I am afraid, given current circumstances, that I must continue to do so. I cannot yet enlighten you as to where or why,” he added, seeing Minerva open her mouth to ask and forestalling her with an upraised hand. “Suffice it to say that I would not be doing so if it were not of the utmost importance. That being said, I need to be sure extra precautions will be taken in my absence.”

“Of course,” said Severus stiffly, though he was quite as curious as Minerva. “Extra enchantments, patrols—”

“Yes,” cut in Albus, “and no. The easiest way to ensure the school’s safety is to pretend I have not left. Any extra wards will be placed seamlessly, away from uninformed eyes—and, though I expect you can apprise Filius of the details, give or take a few things—” he nodded to Minerva— “no one else is to know unless absolutely necessary, staff included. The students should not notice unless extra fuss is made, so be sure nothing gives them reason to suspect anything is amiss.”

“I think we are quite capable of it,” said Minerva. “We have already increased the number of security patrols this year, Aurors included, so that will not be unusual.”

Albus nodded. “Indeed. I will, of course, inform you well in advance of leaving, if it is possible, as well as limit my absences to an evening—or a day or two, at most. Is that acceptable?”

“Certainly.”

“Yes, Headmaster.” Severus hoped his dark amusement was not perceptible; it was not as though they had a choice as to agree. He carefully shielded the thought as Albus fixed him with a piercing look.

“I will be leaving in two days, I think, just after dinner. Severus…above all, Voldemort cannot know. Considering our recent lack of knowledge as far as his plans are concerned, I do not want to think what might occur were he to learn of this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Severus. “However—if I am called—”

“Minerva is more than capable of debriefing you, if it cannot wait,” said Albus, and Minerva nodded her assent. “Speaking of which… am I correct in assuming that you had heard nothing about Voldemort’s latest public move, as well as nothing since?”

“Yes. I must confess that I have been tempted to contact some of my other—associates—but given today’s news, I thought it best to wait. There is the possibility that—” he broke off in a hiss as his left arm flared with pain; the Mark was finally burning.

“What’s the matter? Are you all right?” asked Minerva immediately.

Severus could hardly bear the concern in her voice. “He’s calling. I must go.”

“Very well,” said Albus, though he looked unhappy. “Be careful.”

“You know I am, Headmaster.”

Minerva gave him a wan smile. “Stay safe, Severus.”

“I will be,” he said flatly, as he made for the door. He _would_ be. There was no reason for him to be suspect… none whatsoever…

And he was still more terrified of this summoning than he had ever been in his entire life.


	5. Death Eating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nope, still not JKR, nor am I making money off her stuff. 
> 
> You know the drill: X-posted under a different name. I think this chapter is from 2012. Still verbose. Don't be verbose, kids.

The involuntary flash of comfort Severus felt upon seeing Malfoy manor was quickly stifled as he strode to the gates. What on earth was he doing here? The Dark Lord hadn’t called a meeting at the Malfoys’ since before the end of the first war. More ominously, Severus heard no _cracks_ indicating the arrival of his fellow Death Eaters, meaning that he was either late, or this was some horrible private meeting…

Narcissa’s face upon meeting him at the door confirmed his fears.

“Severus,” she breathed, “you’re nearly late—no, not in the dining room yet,” she added quickly, as he made to move across the hall. “The front parlour. The Dark Lord wishes to speak to you alone before the meeting.”

Severus nodded, careful to keep the anxiety from his features; he had to refrain from asking questions or acting out of place before he could figure out exactly what going on. Narcissa did not smile as she turned to go, her face white— _and why not?_ thought Severus. Her home was currently host to the most dangerous madman in the world, and his nearly-as-dangerous followers.

He pushed the thought from his mind as he entered the dimly lit parlour; the fire was low, Nagini curled up by the embers. The Dark Lord himself was in the far corner, apparently enthralled by a small dragon skeleton displayed on the bookcase—but Severus knew better; to think the Dark Lord distracted was a very dangerous assumption. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the rug.

“My Lord.”

“Severus, my friend. Rise. There is no need for us to speak with you grovelling like some of your more worthless comrades.”

The words sounded friendly—indeed, the Dark Lord looked to be in a particularly good mood—but Severus knew one false step could change Voldemort’s temper in an instant.

“I merely express my readiness to serve.”

“Do you? I find myself surprised—that was more sycophantic than I am used to hearing from you, Severus,” Voldemort said, though, thankfully, he appeared more amused than annoyed. “You are angry with me.”

“My Lord—” protested Severus, hoping he was not pushing his luck by interrupting, but Voldemort waved it away.

“Do not deny it. You are angry with me—and perhaps rightfully so. We have kept much from you these past weeks.”

“I—I am sure you had good reason for doing so.”

“Naturally,” said Voldemort, laughing. “Still—you have resented it.”

Severus was not quite sure what he was supposed to say to this. Admitting anger at the Dark Lord usually didn’t end well, but then, he didn’t seem to be making much progress in trying to deny it.

“I have been frustrated, I confess,” he said finally. “It is difficult for me to operate without news. Dumbledore has been growing more impatient, and even he is beginning to doubt me, I think.”

Voldemort nodded. “Forgive me, my friend; but I believe you see why it has been necessary to keep you in the dark about recent events? It was safest for you—one can only imagine Dumbledore’s wrath if he knew you had something to do with the removal of the students from his school.”

Severus suppressed a snort with difficulty. “Of course. He is angry enough as it is.”

“Good, good,” Voldemort chuckled. “Do not worry, Severus. You will learn more than enough tonight to perhaps— _redeem yourself_ , slightly—in Dumbledore’s eyes.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“He should be rather pleased with you, in fact,” continued Voldemort, after a contemplative pause. “All of your students, safe, and learning… and learning as they should be, without the influences of bias, or what Dumbledore thinks is appropriate. It is a wonderful idea, is it not?”

“Certainly, my Lord. I have often said our house is not treated with the respect of the others—let alone the respect it deserves.”

“Precisely, Severus. I have done everyone a great favour, don’t you see? Dumbledore no longer must deal with the house he finds so repulsive; the students are taken from an atmosphere of resentment and can learn—truly learn, beyond the simple knowledge taught at Hogwarts. I have offered them that.” He smiled thinly. “Of course, it would be best if we were to have the school itself to educate them, but here will suffice, for now. They will no doubt be willing to help me take the castle when the time comes.”

Severus’s mind was racing, though he tried to show pleasure in the Dark Lord’s pet project. Hogwarts had always been an inevitable target, of course, but this approach was new—simply taking the students until one essentially had the school, then using them to take the premises itself.

Screw pleased, Albus was going to have a _fit_.

“They will be pleased to serve you, I am sure, my Lord.”

“They should,” said Voldemort, abruptly frowning. “Some of them have been… more _resistant_ to the idea, but I am sure they will realise the advantages of our position in time. Come, Severus, there is much left to do tonight.”

Severus kept a respectful distance as they swept from the room, barely acknowledging the looks of astonishment and fear when they joined the assembly waiting in the dining hall. He himself was surprised at the ease with which he had been welcomed, but still too cautious to do more than nod to Lucius.

“I will be brief, my friends, as Greyback is already in position,” hissed Voldemort. “This will be our most difficult family yet—we cannot afford _any_ of the mistakes of last time. Delicacy will be the key, I believe. You will stay out of sight until I say—yes, _all of you_ ,” he added, giving a sharp look towards the group clustered at the other end of the table, “and _if_ I give word, you _will not attack until I give the order_. Is that clear?”

Severus kept his face as neutral as ever, though he noted the almost sullen glances between some of the other Death Eaters as they murmured their assent.

Voldemort nodded. “My friends, you surely agree that every drop of magical blood spilled is a waste? You will have your fair share of entertainment, but let us not forget the higher callings of our cause. Now—you have the portkeys, Rookwood?”

“Of course, my Lord.” Rookwood passed a small bag towards the head of the table.

“Good. You should all know your positions by now…Severus, you will go with Lucius’s group. I shall see you all again in five minutes.”

With that, Voldemort Disapparated with a sudden _crack_. The room blinked at his sudden departure, and then moved towards the portkeys; Severus hung back to find Lucius.

“Lucius, what the hell is going on—” he hissed.

“Recruiting party,” Lucius said quietly. “You’re with us. Would you—after—a drink?”

Severus nodded. He would still have to be careful, but at least speaking with Lucius and Narcissa alone would probably yield better answers. He pulled on his mask and gathered around the small crowbar Lucius and a few others were holding, waiting—and then, after several excruciating seconds, the Mark burned again, and the ground fell away as they spun through darkness towards an unknown destination.

* * *

Minerva’s eyes lingered on the door as it fell shut behind Severus, wishing she weren’t quite so aware that this might have been the last time she would ever see him. Not that she wasn’t getting used to it—she had worried, truly worried more than she had ever thought possible, every time he had been called away in the last year—and she was beginning to wonder just how much longer it could go on before he would crack under the pressure. She turned back to Albus unhappily.

“I hope one of you knows what you’re doing,” she said, somewhat tartly.

“So do I,” said Albus. “It is quite unfortunate timing… I had hoped to inform Severus earlier—but perhaps it is better he knows nothing—”

Minerva stared as he pulled a few letters from one of the desk drawers. It was not like Albus to keep correspondence longer than necessary…

“I am not particularly in the habit of keeping my hate mail,” Albus said, “as so little of it is useful… ‘You disgrace your Wizarding heritage with the way you run this school’… ’It is clearly time for you to give up your position; you’ve been at it long enough’…”

“Utter tripe.”

“Of course it is. I think if you examine these actual letters, however, you will notice something very interesting.”

He sounded almost satisfied, but there was a definite undercurrent of worry to his voice that Minerva found unsettling. She scanned the first letter quickly—all tripe, as she had said—but put it down abruptly when she reached the bottom, staring at the shining silver ink.

“This is Tom’s handwriting,” she said quietly, stunned.

“Isn’t it, though? I thought you might be the only other to recognise it—but I doubted I was wrong, having marked his Transfiguration essays for seven years.”

“Of course I recognise it,” Minerva snapped. “All of us at school then knew Tom Riddle… but why on _earth_ … I can’t believe he’d stoop to sending you messages, let alone such—such trifling excuses for insults.”

Albus nodded thoughtfully. “I can’t believe it either… I thought nothing of the letters when I first received them, but there seemed something familiar—and it was fortunate I had not yet thrown them away, once I realised why. But that still leaves us with the question of why they were sent in the first place.”

“He can’t truly mean it as discouragement, surely? In all honesty, they don’t seem to be anywhere near as nasty as some of the correspondence you’ve received in the past,” said Minerva, glancing over the other missives with a frown.

“My thoughts precisely. The only viable conclusions I have been able to draw is that either this sender is not, in fact, Lord Voldemort, though why he would want or be able to impersonate him so thoroughly is unknown. Or—that these were indeed sent by Voldemort or his followers.”

“But _why?_ ”

“Why, indeed? They are far too trivial and unsophisticated for Voldemort’s taste, if I may be so bold to say it; it is not at all his style of intimidation, especially as he would know such a tactic would not work with me. I can therefore only assume that these letters have some other purpose than their stated contents.”

Minerva blinked, perplexed. This was quite possibly one of the most bizarre conversations she’d ever had with Albus—and she’d had quite a few. “What—?”

“I am not certain, but I have been trying to determine whether they contain clues to his next moves—I did receive one before the start of term, and another yesterday, but I cannot determine how a hidden message is supposed to work, if indeed one is contained within them. It’s maddening.”

“Perhaps that’s what he wants,” said Minerva, suddenly anxious. “Perhaps he’s simply sending you things—even trivial things—just to take your focus away from what’s important.”

“I have not ruled it out,” said Albus, though he sounded doubtful. “Still…I would like to investigate it further before I start discarding them. If it is indeed a sort of puzzle, it may be useful to solve it—as well as determine why Voldemort thinks it an adequate use of time and resources.”

“He’s evil,” said Minerva flatly. “He’s evil, and arrogant, and wasting your time with pointless puzzles—or, _very well, then_ , making things more interesting by sending you his plans in disguise, only to see you fail to decipher them in time—is exactly what he would find amusing.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Albus stashed the letters away again. “I only hope, that if I am right about these messages… that it is not the warning I think it might be.”

“Which is?”

“If Voldemort is communicating directly, Minerva, it could very well mean he knows we will not have a spy for much longer.”

* * *

Severus opened his eyes as soon as his feet hit the ground, and nearly squeezed them shut immediately afterwards; he was mere inches from a tree trunk. He backed away slowly and almost tripped over another Death Eater, who had not been so graceful with Portkey travel and had ended up sprawled in a heap.

“Oh, get up,” he heard Lucius say, and the unfortunate man scrambled out of kicking range and nearly fell over again in his haste to rise.

“That should be everyone,” said Lucius, looking around; Severus followed his gaze, picking out faint shapes of other men within the trees. It was rather thinly wooded, but a quick glance in the other direction made it obvious as to why; they were on the edge of an expansive garden, dwarfed by the unfamiliar manor perhaps a hundred yards away.

“We’re really starting the raids again, then?” he muttered.

“Essentially, yes,” said Lucius.

“Just like old times.”

One of the others—Severus thought it was Rowle—spat bitterly. “Not like old times at all. We’re not ‘raiding’ any more, we’re ‘recruiting.’ Load of rubbish. He plans it out like it’s going to be some big attack, and half the time we don’t even get to come out of hiding. He just goes up to the door and talks to them.”

If it hadn’t been so alarming, Severus might have laughed—the Dark Lord, going from door to door like a Muggle salesman or politician! But if Voldemort wanted to do this himself, he clearly considered it important—far too important to let his servants handle it. Severus frowned—there was something no one was telling him.

“Well, the Dark Lord does have some power and influence about his person,” he said drily. “I can’t imagine many refusing him if he showed up at the door himself. We’re here for a show of force.”

“Yes,” admitted Lucius. “And we’ve used force, when necessary… but the threat is usually enough. If not—well, we haven’t brought Greyback along for nothing. Those that won’t join us as wizards will have little choice in the matter as werewolves.”

Severus suppressed a shudder with difficulty. Quite apart from his own aversion to werewolves, he despised Greyback; using him to increase the circle of followers seemed extreme even for the Dark Lord. Severus narrowed his eyes as he looked towards the manor again.

“But—”

“Shut _up_ , Snape,” Rowle hissed. “He’ll be here any minute, and if he hears us, we’re all in for it.”

“Just watch,” Lucius breathed. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

He did not sound pleased, though, and Severus could not help but wonder at the looks of unease and downright mutiny he saw in the eyes of the Death Eaters around him. Clearly, all was not as it seemed.

The _crack_ as Voldemort Apparated in the middle of the garden was unnaturally amplified to Severus’s ears, or perhaps he was simply too lost in thought. He watched, disbelieving, as the Dark Lord strode to the doors and waited, presumably for an answer from within.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“ _Shh!_ ”

They waited in silence as a crack of light spilled over the lawn, another figure silhouetted there, and Severus was suddenly glad he could not hear what was being said. He had enough trouble speaking to the Dark Lord himself; he could well imagine the terror of having no warning before being forced into conversation with the most dangerous Dark Wizard of all time. He was glad he could not hear what was being said, half-expecting a Killing Curse at any moment—

Instead, his Mark burned so intensely that he barely suppressed a hiss, and a few men around him muttered curses. Lucius nodded.

“Carefully.”

They moved from the cover of the trees, converging in a group the likes of which Severus had not expected; the Dark Lord must have made arrangements with others, many more than the inner circle. 

There was silence for a few moments, and then a few figures walked forward. After a moment, Severus realised the Dark Lord must have called them personally; they disappeared with the other silhouettes inside, leaving the small army to wait yet again. Next to him, Lucius huffed slightly.

“They were smart—they accepted before Greyback was involved.”

“Who are they?” muttered Severus.

“Collishams. Lesser Purebloods. Barely.” Lucius sounded almost like his old disdainful self for a moment before adding nervously, “But there’s no guarantee whether it’s—”

He broke off again immediately, for the great doors opened again and Voldemort re-emerged, staring around at them all and nodding.

“Well done, my friends. Two more for our cause. You may rest tonight knowing we are moving forward… but first….” He glanced at the manor again, and there was no mistaking the look of contempt that distorted the snake-like face. “Burn it.”

He was gone in a sharp _crack_ , and many of the waiting Death Eaters cheered. Severus did not protest as Lucius pulled him aside.

“The inner circle does not usually stay…unless you wish it, of course?” said Lucius, grimacing in distaste as the manor was engulfed in flames within seconds.

“I can’t say that I do,” said Severus, though he paused to put right a few fiery spells that had strayed from their mark. “Idiots…they’ll have half the countryside burnt by morning if they keep that up.”

Lucius snorted. “You remember, Severus. All in the name of fun.”

“Of course.” Severus nodded, but couldn’t help his smirk upon seeing Lucius sniff irritably. “Only, you don’t seem to think so anymore, do you?”

“Neither do you,” said Lucius, not skipping a beat. He sighed and held out an arm. “Narcissa will be waiting. Shall we?”

“Indeed.”

* * *

“Minerva!”

Minerva turned in surprise at the voice hailing her; Charity rarely sought her out, and often returned home far earlier in the evening. Nevertheless, Minerva stopped and withdrew her hand from her office door.

“Charity, this is a surprise—what can I do for you?”

The short blonde witch smiled. “I just heard back from my publisher. They’ve finally approved it!”

“The book or the article?”

“The book! No more drafts, thank God!” said Charity, laughing. “They’re ready to print whenever I give the word—only, I was hoping to get an endorsement from a colleague or two,” she added, rather shyly. “I don’t suppose there will be time in the staff meeting tomorrow to address it?”

Minerva nodded. “Of course—I shall add it to the list. Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” Charity beamed. “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you; I should get home… Greg will be thrilled….”

She waved and practically bounced out of sight; Minerva watched her go and felt her heart sink.

It was not as though she did not agree with Charity’s fundamental sentiments on Muggles—and she _did_ think the Wizarding world needed to be made aware of them—but now was not the time to be handing out thousands of pages on the subject. It was too dangerous—but, then, Charity always did have a lack of foresight.

Minerva sighed. Albus could sort it tomorrow.

* * *

“You both smell awful,” Narcissa said baldly, her delicate nose wrinkling, but it was somehow not enough to keep her from embracing Lucius the instant he came within reach. “What happened? Where were you? Severus—what’s going on?”

“Patience, my dear,” said Lucius smoothly. “I’m sure he’d rather like to know that himself. Shall we have a drink?”

Much to Severus’s puzzlement, Narcissa glanced at the grand staircase before nodding. “I think they’ve settled.”

Severus knew it would be pointless to ask; he instead followed the Malfoys to Lucius’s study, noting how closely they walked, how reluctant they were to break contact. He had nearly forgotten that Lucius had only just escaped from Azkaban, but there was no mistaking that haunted look or the hollowness of his cheeks—nor the way Narcissa looked at him when they had finally barred themselves in the spacious study.

“It is good to see you again,” said Severus sincerely, nodding his thanks as Narcissa poured them wine. She gave him a wan smile and nestled beside her husband again.

“I must confess, I did not expect to be released so soon,” said Lucius, his voice low, “but I cannot say I am ungrateful.”

“And what would have been gained by keeping you locked away?” said Narcissa, albeit nervously.

“Nothing much, of course,” lied Lucius, and abruptly changed the subject. “It is good to see you again as well, Severus. When you weren’t at yesterday’s meeting, I thought…”

“I haven’t seen you all summer,” Narcissa cut in quickly. “I wasn’t sure—”

“You thought I was dead,” said Severus bluntly.

“Not necessarily,” protested Narcissa.

Lucius smiled thinly. “You must admit, when someone simply disappears from meetings, they usually aren’t in any shape to ever come back.”

“If I am honest, I did not expect as warm a welcome as I received. I had assumed I was not included in most summonses, but I could not think of a safe way to ask why,” said Severus, eying his hosts carefully.

Lucius frowned. “That was wise. I cannot say I knew much more than you, this past summer, but still… things have been—different.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” said Severus sardonically. “I thought the Dark Lord always paid house calls.”

“That’s just it,” said Narcissa quietly. “He has been. This summer, at least. Oh, Severus, it’s been such a mess—”

Severus waited for Lucius to contradict her, to perhaps even roll his eyes as he always did when she tended towards the dramatic, but Lucius only squeezed her hand and looked grim.

“I assume you know the Dark Lord’s latest educational project?” he said quietly.

Severus frowned. “If you’re talking about the fact that every single student of Slytherin House has failed to return to Hogwarts, barely. When I spoke with the Dark Lord tonight, he led me to believe that he himself had recruited them all, and was somehow finding a way to teach them—but that’s—”

“True,” finished Lucius. “They’re here, Severus. All of them.”

“ _Here?_ ”

“In the manor,” said Narcissa, her voice trembling at last. “We’d do anything to serve the Dark Lord, of course, but—oh, Severus, this isn’t a school; every spare room in the manor is filled, and it’s been difficult to divide them up and find those of us that can train them—”

“The Dark Lord has assured us that it is a temporary solution,” said Lucius hastily. “They will not intrude on us for long… but the fact remains, this is not Hogwarts. While they may be learning certain things more quickly, we cannot offer them nearly as much; it is difficult enough to find those of us that have the patience to teach them simple spells and duelling.”

“They’re children,” said Narcissa coldly. “To have them so directly involved—most are younger than Draco, some even younger than eleven—he’s been taking on the purebloods that had chosen to stay home for their education, as well.”

Severus bit back a curse and sipped his wine to give himself time to think. “You cannot be the only ones that think this is a bad idea,” he said finally.

“Of course not,” snapped Narcissa. “Even those of us that were aware of this at the beginning were never particularly enthusiastic.”

“And, given how much time we have spent recruiting, it’s not difficult to see why the others are growing restless,” added Lucius. “Restoring the Wizarding world to its proper order seems a long way off from simply gaining the odd follower or two. But no one is going to be foolish enough to say—”

He fell silent immediately at the knock on the door; Draco poked his head around the frame moments later.

“Mum?”

“What is it, Draco?” said Narcissa softly.

“Pansy was wondering whether someone else might switch rather than having to—Professor Snape?”

Severus nearly smirked at the flabbergasted look on the boy’s face. “Hello, Draco. The dungeons have been rather quiet without you.”

Draco fidgeted sullenly. “I—I didn’t—the Dark Lord said he’d give me my Mark soon,” he said, and Severus heard Lucius inhale sharply. “Besides, I’ll be back soon enough, once Hogwarts is ours, right, Professor?”

“One can hope,” said Severus vaguely, but he didn’t miss how Lucius’s mouth twisted in annoyance. Narcissa stood gracefully.

“What is it, Draco?” she repeated.

“Oh—yeah—Astoria said she’d take the new ones if Daphne and Millicent wanted to move in with Pansy instead, but we’d need help—”

“That’s all right, I suppose. I’ll be there in a moment,” said Narcissa, and waited until her son had ducked out the door again before muttering, “Honestly, Severus. I’ve no idea how you deal with this on a regular basis.”

“Neither do I. But you shouldn’t have to,” he pointed out.

Narcissa sighed. “You’d think I would be used to it by now… who are the ‘new ones’?” she added, looking at Lucius.

“Collishams. They’re still young and an unknown entity; don’t tell them we burned the manor,” he said softly. Narcissa nodded and left, though she looked rather paler than usual.

Severus remained silent as Lucius finished his wine; he looked far more upset than Severus had seen him in a very long time. Not that he could be blamed—escaping Azkaban to find his home invaded by the Dark Lord and a hundred schoolchildren could not have been easy, but Severus doubted that these were the greatest of Lucius’s worries.

“You do not wish for Draco to take the Mark.”

It was not a question, and Lucius looked around at him sharply. “No,” he breathed. “Not yet. It—you know I am loyal, Severus, but it has been different—extremely so. It is not as it was last time, or even last year. The Dark Lord’s return is known, but he is being more cautious with the more important of our plans; he rarely shares them, he is less patient, he is—more dangerous.”

“He has always been dangerous, Lucius,” replied Severus, though he did not disagree.

Lucius shook his head. “You know Draco, Severus. He is not ready. He has no idea of what is in store, what will be asked of him—so, no, I do not wish him to take the Mark. Not yet.”

Severus searched his face for signs of dishonesty; he would not put it past Lucius to try to draw him out and test his loyalties, especially if the Dark Lord had commanded it. “And—if the Dark Lord wishes for Draco to take the Mark?” he said finally.

“Then he will,” said Lucius abruptly. “I would never dream of telling the Dark Lord what he should or should not do, my friend. Perhaps things will be better within a few months’ time, in any case.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps the Dark Lord will only grow more cautious. He cannot seriously expect to have achieved much if his focus is currently on recruiting children and their families.”

Lucius frowned. “That’s just it—I’m sure it’s not. He’s planning more, that much is certain, but I doubt he will tell anyone any time soon. Compared to last time, it’s almost as if—” Lucius glanced around nervously, though Severus was quite sure they were alone— “it’s almost as if he’s afraid that we’re losing.”

“He is not alone in that,” said Severus. “If anything, Dumbledore has been much the same.”

“The Wizarding world at war, and both sides too paralysed at the thought of losses to do anything to guarantee a victory,” Lucius snorted mirthlessly. “I wonder which is more dangerous: a war where both sides are sure they are winning, or both are convinced they are being defeated?”

Severus did not bother to answer. It made little difference; it would not end well for him either way. The only question was which side was going to decide his time was up first, and how long he had before then.


	6. A Matter of Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Still not mine. 
> 
> This chapter is what happens when you leave off writing something, and then attempt to pick up writing it again over three years later. Oops. I am trash. 
> 
> X-posted. Notes at the beginning of the fic still apply.

Minerva did not intend for her rounds to take her past the entrance hall so often, but she could not deny she had made sure it was well supervised and free from wandering students. After about the sixth pass, she heard a slight _creak_ , and immediately paused on her way up the staircase, looking around; the castle doors had opened a crack, and Severus stalked into the hall. He did not look hurt, but her sensitive nose caught a slight odour of smoke as he drew closer.

“Minerva.”

“Severus.”

She did not dare say anything more, and he seemed too preoccupied with his own thoughts to welcome further conversation; nonetheless, she turned her footsteps to the headmaster’s office and escorted him to the gargoyle in silence.

“I found them, you know,” he said suddenly, instead of speaking the password. “The Slytherins.”

“Severus, that’s…” started Minerva, but she could not think of an appropriate way to finish the thought.

“I know. Completely uninteresting; I might as well only mention it to Dumbledore in passing.”

She glared at him. “Oh, stop it. You know he’ll want to hear it whether he can do something at the moment or not—although I daresay he has something else to discuss with you, as we never got the chance before you left.”

“Perfect.”

Minerva eyed his agitated face warily; she had the suspicion he was very close to letting his temper get the better of him again, and she was not at all looking forward to trying to patch up another of his rows with herself or Albus. Best to head it off while she could.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “you might find Albus’s problem interesting, actually. I have my own ideas, regardless of his theories, but I think we’re both curious to hear your opinion.”

Severus snorted. “I suspect Dumbledore couldn’t care less about my opinion at the moment.”

“Well, if he decides to be difficult, my door _will_ be open to discussion later,” said Minerva. She was a little surprised at her own invitation—but it was not late, she had little left to do for the night, and goodness knew Severus could do with a distraction. His eyes narrowed slightly; perhaps the same had occurred to him.

“Why don’t you just come with me?” he said finally, and it took her a moment to realise he was gesturing to the gargoyle.

“I—I didn’t think either of you would want—”

“You might as well,” he said impatiently. “It’ll save one of us the effort of telling you later. Besides, if I’m going to have to report to you when he’s gone, I’d rather you have some idea of what’s actually happening—not just whatever Dumbledore decides to say about it.”

Minerva gave him a warning look. “Don’t start suggesting he’s lying to us all. We can’t afford the doubt right now.”

“I’m not suggesting it. You know he likes to keep his secrets. Now, are you coming, or aren’t you?”

“Very well,” she conceded, and followed him up the winding staircase. She was not surprised that Albus did not look especially pleased to see them both.

“Ah, Severus, good. Minerva?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

“She’s staying,” snapped Severus. “There’s nothing she shouldn’t know.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

Minerva very nearly hissed in annoyance, as Severus did; if there was one thing that irritated her beyond others talking about her as if she weren’t there, it was being treated like a child. It was something mostly only fools dared to do, and she had never been tolerant of foolishness. As it was, she glared at both men.

“I can speak for myself, thank you, Severus,” she said coolly; then, “and I _am_ staying, Albus. Really, there’s no point in either of you having to repeat yourselves for my sake; I’m saving you the time. And I _do_ think it a rather good idea if I were to have some idea of the current situation—what if Severus is called while you’re away?”

Severus gave her a sidelong glance, but she ignored him; her eyes were fixed on Albus’s piercing blue ones.

“Very well,” he said neutrally, and pointed them both into seats. “Well, Severus? What has Lord Voldemort chosen to reveal this time?”

Severus flinched slightly, though Minerva couldn’t tell whether because of the use of Voldemort’s name or Albus’s dismissive tone. Clearly, Albus had prepared for an unpleasant conversation.

“He has them,” said Severus coldly. “All of them. And some of those that chose not to attend Hogwarts. He has apparently been recruiting them and their families all summer. Those that could not be dealt with quietly have either been turned to werewolves to join his ranks, or killed, as far as I can tell. He hopes to train them as his new generation of followers—a sort of Hogwarts of his own, at least until he can find a way to attack the school.”

Minerva’s heart skipped a beat. You-Know-Who wouldn’t dare attack Hogwarts while Albus was still in charge, but as last year had proved, Albus was not invincible. All Voldemort needed was one opportunity when Albus wasn’t there…

“I assumed as much,” said Albus grimly. “And it is working, so far? He is training them for his army?”

Severus hesitated. “I—I do not know. The students are currently overrunning Malfoy manor, which is a _great_ pleasure to them, of course. There have apparently been difficulties in finding them adequate teachers, and—and many of the inner circle do not approve.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. So, Voldemort meets resistance from his own council… that is not something you counted on at the beginning, did you, Tom?” he mused, almost to himself. Severus glanced at Minerva tentatively, as though unsure whether he should continue, but she nodded; Albus looked far more lost in thought than angry, now, in any case.

“They are restless. They feel they should be doing more, more quickly. Lucius believes the Dark Lord is planning much more while he distracts us with recruiting, but it is mere speculation.”

Albus nodded. “Perhaps, but not unfounded. If Voldemort is truly growing as paranoid as it seems, I have no doubt he is beginning to orchestrate the majority of his most important plans himself—or, at the very least, keeping those involved uninformed until absolutely essential.”

“And where does that leave us?” Minerva ventured.

“Practically in the dark,” said Severus bitterly. “If I’m not going to be told what the Dark Lord expects until I get there, as was the case tonight, we won’t have any advance warning whatsoever.”

Minerva fell silent; she did not want to let slip that this was precisely what had cost the Order so many lives last time. As far as she knew, Severus was not completely aware of how the Order had worked then, even after he had changed sides, and the last thing any of them needed now was for him to feel responsible if everything started to go wrong. There were already far too many self-blaming _heroes_ in the order, she thought wryly; no need to push Severus even further down that path than he already was.

Albus did not seem to share Severus’s pessimism. “Perhaps we have lost some advance warning, yes,” he acknowledged, “but any at all would be invaluable—”

“You’re not seriously suggesting I attempt to contact the Order _while_ at the Dark Lord’s meetings?” said Severus icily.

“Not right in front of him, no,” replied Albus, “but if there is a spare moment—any at all—it could mean the difference between life and death.”

“That’s nearly suicide,” hissed Severus, and Minerva privately agreed. She knew nothing of what he truly faced when he left the castle, but she doubted that his trying to find time to inform the Order of last-minute plans would be taken lightly, were it discovered. She frowned at Albus.

“Surely there must be another way to prepare—have us standing by when he’s called away—”

“And what good would that do?” snapped Severus. “You could be waiting all night, or never know where you’re needed—if anything, you know he’s gotten better about attacking swiftly and silently; I doubt word of trouble would get out easily, and I’m certainly not going to attempt it if there’s a high likelihood of getting caught.” He glared at Albus, as though daring him to order otherwise.

“That is why we plan now, and not in the midst of a crisis,” said Albus calmly. “Assuming my suppositions about tonight are correct, he will conduct more raids on the old families before attempting anything more daring—we have that much time in our favour, at least.”

“That does not mean much. I still cannot promise I will be able to give you a location, or even send you any type of signal at all.”

Minerva nodded, and added, “Even assuming You-Know-Who means to raid the rest of the untouched pureblood homes, we cannot possibly watch them all. We’re spread thin enough as it is.”

Albus sighed. “Unfortunately, yes…but anything is better than nothing. For now, I will inform the others of potential targets to add to their rounds, and that they should be ready to check them at a moment’s notice. Any signal at all will do, Severus, even the slightest, if you do not have the time to give us a location.”

Severus looked as though he wanted to argue, but nodded without further comment. Minerva very nearly objected again as well, but let it go; Albus was right, anything was better than nothing, and she seriously doubted Severus would betray himself by trying to send a message at the wrong moment.

Albus looked between them again. “If there is nothing else…?”

“No, Headmaster.” Severus did not hesitate, but Minerva suspected he was holding back his worries—but if Albus thought the same, he did not press. He nodded and opened his desk drawer, pulling the stack of letters from it.

“Very well. Minerva, I have already shown you these—you need not stay, if you have other things to attend to?”

Severus again looked as if he was going to protest, but Minerva could recognise a dismissal when she heard it. She stretched and got to her feet.

“I do, Albus, thank you—Severus—I will be in my office to discuss your schedule revisions, when you are finished here.”

Severus nodded in acknowledgement of the lie without blinking, and she left as slowly as she dared, half-tempted to wait outside the door instead. If they were going to argue, she would prefer to interfere before it got out of hand—but she didn’t think she could bear to be caught in the middle again. She shook her head and made her way back to her office, trying to ignore the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.

_Please, please keep your temper. Both of you._  

* * *

Albus waited until the office door fell shut before speaking again.  “Is there truly nothing else, Severus?”

Severus was too tired not to be insulted, but he thought of Minerva’s warning and tried to be civil. He was not entirely sure he succeeded.

“I— _no_ , Headmaster, you know I have always told you everything—” As he said it, it occurred to him that he had not, in fact, mentioned the Malfoys; Albus apparently saw the hesitation and pounced.

“ _What else_ , Severus?”

“I—I only just remembered, it isn’t important—Draco Malfoy. The Dark Lord intends to Mark him soon. It—as I said, unimportant. There is nothing we can do.” _As if you would do anything, anyway._

“On the contrary, that is of great importance. How does Lucius feel about his son’s advancement?”

“He doesn’t like it at all, obviously,” said Severus, scowling. “But he’s not stupid enough to say anything.”

“And the boy?”

“How should I know?”

“Severus…”

“No, Headmaster, I don’t know. Really, I don’t. Anything I could say would only be speculation.”

“Hmmm.” Albus frowned in thought. “That is… potentially problematic. But—another time. For now… I would very much like your opinion on these.”

Severus bit back yet another snide remark and stared; the stack of letters Albus indicated looked perfectly ordinary. Unless he was referring to their contents?

“May I?”

“Of course.”

Severus scanned the missives quickly—there was nothing of substance, as far as he could tell. He snorted as he noticed the sender. “Someone must think themselves terribly clever.”

“Perhaps. I am less inclined to think they are forged.”

It took a full ten seconds of blinking before Severus could find a response to that. “You cannot be serious, Headmaster.”

“Why not?”

“Yes, the Dark Lord has taken time out of his busy schedule to post you the most ridiculous—” He made a scathing noise, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better, I would suspect the Weasley twins.”

Albus eyed him sternly. “Severus.”

“What do you expect me to say, Headmaster? This is— _nothing_ , they are not cursed, they—it does not sound like him in the slightest.”

“It is his handwriting. I am sure of it.”

“Because that could not possibly be faked,” Severus muttered, but his stomach tightened with unease. He himself was not familiar enough with the Dark Lord’s handwriting to recognise it—it did not bode well to receive messages from someone who was close enough to imitate it.

“I am not aware it ever has been,” said Albus, more gently. “You could be right, Severus. I hope you are. But I would still like to investigate these further before I dismiss it as nothing.”

Severus nodded, suddenly twice as tired. He held no illusions as to who would be doing a good part of the investigating, though he was still half-convinced this was one of Albus’s barmier ideas. He pushed aside the thought and stretched slightly—he wanted little more than to bathe and collapse into bed.

“Is that all, Headmaster?”

Albus searched his face, but nodded. “For now. We should not keep Minerva waiting.”

Ah, yes—his ‘schedule.’ Severus kept his face neutral, hoping he was imagining Albus’s knowing look. Even so, he was perfectly within his rights to discuss things with another colleague and Order member, if he wanted. Hopefully. Unless Albus decided to start forbidding that to him, too. He shook himself and got to his feet.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Severus. Do not forget tomorrow’s meeting.”

“No, sir.”

* * *

Minerva did not know why she was relieved when Severus finally knocked on her door, but she pulled it open at once and sighed.

“If that’s what Albus calls not keeping you long, I’d hate to see what he considers lengthy at this point.”

“Apologies,” said Severus abruptly. “I wanted to wash before inflicting my company on your rooms.” He suddenly scowled. “And there was really no reason for Albus to send you away; I think he’s just trying to be mysterious for the sake of being mysterious.”

Minerva gestured him inside and warded the door, also frowning. “I hate when he does that. It usually means he’s planning something we’re not going to find particularly appealing.”

“He _is_ travelling in a few days, is he not? I can’t imagine what else he could possibly have planned that we’ll find more unpleasant than him leaving the school.”

“Probably something to do with that, I expect.” Minerva spared him a dark look. “I don’t suppose he said anything more about it?”

“No,” replied Severus bitterly. “If he trusts anyone else with his little plans, it is not me. I’ve no idea where he’s going, or why. Minerva, I don’t like this.”

“I know, Severus. I’m trying my best. That’s all we can do.”

“If it’s so important, he’d be better off telling _someone_. If something were to go wrong—”

He stopped, looking as though he’d said too much, but Minerva nodded in understanding.

“No, it isn’t wise, and it’s not like him to do something rash, even if he’s always kept his secrets. But—”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. She exchanged a puzzled glance with Severus, who eyed it warily, but allowed her to pull it open nonetheless. He concealed his wand immediately upon seeing it was merely two of her Gryffindors.

“Miss Ackerman?” said Minerva in surprise, addressing the fifth year, as the younger seemed to be in tears. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, Professor, I don’t mean to bother, only Addie’s been saying—”

“I want to go home,” said the younger girl, looking half-scared, half-defiant.

“Why don’t you come in, Miss Howland,” said Minerva kindly. “Thank you, Miss Ackerman; you may return to your dormitory. I can escort her back if need be.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

Minerva sighed inwardly as she watched Miss Howland step hesitantly into her office. There were always one or two—but it never made it easier, telling a first year that they would simply have to deal with their homesickness.

“Now, Miss Howland, what’s this all about?” said Minerva, gesturing her into a chair.

“I want to go home,” the girl repeated. “I love it here, but—some of the older Gryffindors were saying something about a Dark wizard, and he’s been killing people for being Muggles or Muggle-born, and I know it’s not a joke because I’ve seen it in your papers, and I want to go home!”

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks again, and Minerva reached for a tin of biscuits. “Here, Miss Howland, if you like—no? Very well… You’ve every right to know—it is true. _However_ … Hogwarts is quite possibly the safest place in the world from this Dark wizard. He will not harm you as long as you are here; you do not have to fear him while you study within these walls.”

“What about my parents?”

It was barely a whisper, and then she dissolved into tears once more, apparently inconsolable. Minerva resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation, but looked up, eyebrows raised, as two mugs of hot chocolate appeared on the desk before her and her student with a solid _thunk_.

“Miss Howland, listen to me,” said Severus quietly, and the girl jumped; Minerva doubted she had even registered Severus’s presence until that moment.

“There is no safer place for you right now than here, and I can assure you that your parents are well aware of it. As for their wellbeing, it would be imprudent of me to make promises. _But…_ for all that there are Dark wizards, there are plenty more who are not. The war is not one-sided.”

Minerva tried not to be surprised—she knew, logically, that Severus must have had his own experiences with homesick students—but she had not expected him to do anything half so kind when it came to her Gryffindors. She nodded and watched the girl’s face carefully.

“The world will be an uncertain place regardless of where you spend your time, Miss Howland. But you will be better able to face it, and protect your family, by remaining here for the time being,” Minerva finished. “We’ll take it one day at a time, hmm?”

She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the girl nodded, still sniffling a bit into her hot chocolate. Minerva let her settle and sipped at her own drink, mildly impressed that Severus had managed not to show much annoyance—not that she would have let him, if he had. The last thing first years needed was to feel they were an inconvenience.

She waited for the inevitable yawn, soon after their mugs were empty. “Perhaps it is time for bed, Miss Howland?”

“Yes, Professor. Thanks.”

“I’ll escort you back to your common room—there is a shortcut, if your prefects have not already told you of it.” Minerva got to her feet and cast Severus an apologetic look; he shrugged slightly and moved towards one of her chairs. “Now… you have Herbology tomorrow morning, is that correct?”

Miss Howland’s face lit up as Minerva ushered her out into the hall. “Oh, yes! I had it this morning, too, I really like it so far….”

And she was off, babbling about her first lessons, all previous worries apparently forgotten. Minerva smiled to herself and made a mental note to tell Pomona to keep an eye on this one for future apprenticeships, although that was still years away, provided Hogwarts was still standing by then.

Her smile faded at the thought. Hogwarts would still be standing if she had anything to say about it—but Albus’s recent behaviour made it seem as though things were going much worse than he let on. And with his sudden secretive missions elsewhere…

She shook herself and bid her student goodnight at the entrance to Gryffindor tower, hurrying back to her office for what she hoped would be the last time tonight. Severus was still waiting—perhaps longer than she’d realised, given he seemed to be asleep by the time she returned. She sighed and moved back to her desk, careful to be in full view of his chair.

“Severus. _Severus_.”

He blinked at her a few times before sitting up straight, and she made an extra effort not to appear amused. She wasn’t, really—he had to have been exhausted to even consider resting somewhere other than his own quarters.

“Perhaps we ought to go to bed, as well,” she said gently.

He nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.” He took a moment to stand and stretch, still looking partially asleep. “There’s always one, isn’t there?”

“I’ve never had a year there wasn’t. Poor girl.” Minerva straightened the paperwork on her desk and paused to banish the empty mugs back to the kitchens, feeling Severus’s eyes upon her. “That was—decent of you, Severus. Thank you.”

He snorted. “Don’t. She’ll forget all about it by the time she’s finished her first class with me.”

“Severus, don’t you _dare_ try to—” Minerva bit back the flare of irritation. “I am not getting into this with you tonight. Go to bed.”

“I’ll do as I please,” he said wearily, but there was little doubt he would follow her advice. “Goodnight, Minerva.”


	7. Charity's Folly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not J.K. Rowling, not making money, etc., etc....
> 
> X-posted. And hey, an update within 3 years! 
> 
> Feedback welcomed.

For a man not half Severus’s height, Filius could be _very_ intimidating when he wished, especially when he was uncharacteristically serious. Severus didn’t dare refuse the offered drink this time, although he didn’t really mind, given that the staff room now would be otherwise empty. 

And Filius had excellent taste in whiskey.

Filius waited until they had each settled into armchairs with a glass before immediately getting to the point.

“Albus tells me we’re to be securing the castle while he’s away. He’s _also_ said no one else is to know, besides us and Minerva. It may not be my business—but do you mind telling me what’s going on, lad?” 

Severus shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Would you tell me, if you did?”

“I—” Severus hesitated. “I also don’t know. It would depend on—what Dumbledore had to say about it.” 

He felt it was a barely adequate answer—however truthful—but Filius suddenly smiled as though he’d passed a test. Perhaps he had; the thought was disturbing.

“I understand. Don’t worry. I’m sure the three of us will be able to manage it well enough. I’ll handle the extra enchantments, if you and Minerva will strengthen the usual wards?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent.”

Severus nodded vaguely and downed his drink, the burn partially soothing his unsettled nerves. He had no qualms about trusting Filius with the safety of the castle, but it felt too easy, somehow. There was no reason for anyone but the three of them to know anything was amiss, but he’d had too much experience with well-laid plans gone to hell not to be worried.

When he looked up again, Filius was watching him carefully, and held out the whiskey without comment. Severus took it and poured himself more than a few fingers’ worth, this time, but Filius only nodded.

“Good thinking. There’ll be time for it to settle before the meeting.”

Severus suppressed a sniff with difficulty; it hadn’t been intentional, but it was true that staff meetings were better experienced under the influence of a strong drink. Filius sipped at his own, apparently content to relax in the quiet, for which Severus was grateful.

He suddenly frowned. “Filius… what do you know of charms to disguise handwriting?”

“Ooh, that’s complicated,” Filius said, his eyes glittering in excitement. “There are plenty, of course—many different kinds. Strategic invisibility, changing the perceived text, altering shape—”

“What about something that would imitate another person’s writing?”

Filius’s smile vanished. “They exist. But there are strict regulations about that sort of thing.”

“Assume, hypothetically, that legality is not a concern.”

“This is hypothetical, is it?”

He sounded so sceptical that Severus snorted. “I have no interest in forgery, I promise.”

“Hmm.” Filius still looked doubtful, but let it go without further comment. “What is it you’re wondering, then?”

Severus hesitated a moment, trying to phrase his questions carefully. The last thing he needed was for other staff to again start thinking he was up to no good—and Alastor, of course, would pounce on any word of that.

“You’ve confirmed it is possible,” he said slowly. “And I’d imagine, given the obvious purpose, that it is possible without the knowledge of the person whose writing is being imitated. But to imitate flawlessly—there must be something else involved, a sample script, the use of another’s magical signature—”

“There are several spells involving such things, yes, but I’ll not be saying how they’re done, if that’s what you’re asking.” For all that Filius’s voice squeaked, he could sound remarkably threatening; Severus was strongly reminded that his diminutive colleague was a world-class duelling champion.

“I’m not. I swear it.” Severus took a breath and collected his thoughts; if Dumbledore’s mystery letters _were_ forged, then, it was someone with very close access to the Dark Lord. Which meant the Dark Lord likely knew of it, if he didn’t sanction it. _Shit._

“I’m more wondering whether such spells… well, whether they are difficult to detect.”

“Of course they are. It would not be much of a forgery if detection spells could easily undo it.”

“But it is not impossible? If—if I were to receive a letter and suspect something amiss, there are measures to discover these enchantments, besides the obvious?”

Filius’s face cleared slightly. “Ah, I see. Well, then—yes, and no. Most of them at the calibre we’re discussing cannot be undone, really. There would be no way to know who was doing the forging. Some of them would even—well, they might not even be identifiable as the enchantments they are. One might only be able to feel a trace of magic on the page, which may be indistinguishable from a trace left from vanishing a blot of ink. There is a reason most official documents cannot be considered valid if there are traces of magic preceding the time of signing.”

“These spells definitely need to be cast before writing, then? There can be no way to do so afterward?"

“Not that I am aware. Not the ones that are completely untraceable, at any rate,” said Filius firmly. “Altering the writing after the fact—even the best of enchantments might be detected, if one was thorough enough. As you are.”

As Albus was, as well. Severus was stumped. It had been a bit of a whim, drawing on Filius’s expertise, but even if he’d planned it, he would have expected a far more fruitful outcome. As it was… he’d learnt nothing that would help except for the increased likelihood that Albus was right, mad as the idea was.

_Well, fuck._

* * *

Minerva made sure to be early to the meeting. She had yet to find a way to address Charity’s book diplomatically—that woman had the _worst_ timing imaginable—but even as she headed to the staff room, Minerva found herself drawing a blank. Surely Albus would have to say something, at least. 

Or maybe not. There were already Death Eaters after most of them, anyway.

She set about making tea for herself as she reviewed her agenda, and smiled to Filius’s cheerful greeting. He and Severus were relaxing in the cushy armchairs, halfway through a bottle of—good _god_ , was that Ogden’s Oldest and Finest? She’d have to watch them—but otherwise they seemed content to leave her in peace while she prepared.

She was glad for the slight chatter as the rest of the staff slowly filtered into the room; it gave her an excuse to point out the last item on the list to Albus without drawing attention. He frowned.

“I suppose I will start making arrangements for a safe house now.”

Minerva shook her head, but forestalled her comment as Severus took the chair across from her and raised an eyebrow. She sighed. “Never mind.”

“Never mind _what?_ ”

“I don’t recall you being part of the conversation,” she said, though without any real bite behind it, and Albus called for attention before Severus could respond.

“Good afternoon. I trust this week is going fairly smoothly for you all—are there any general concerns?”

Severus was glaring daggers at the headmaster, who was carefully surveying the rest of the room; Minerva nudged Severus’s boot under the table and shook her head slightly. She wasn’t sure just how much of the whiskey he’d had, but given Filius still seemed relatively sober, that didn’t bode well. She knew Severus’s tolerance was much higher, but he _really_ didn’t need the added difficulty in keeping his mouth shut.

Thankfully, Argus jumped in before someone decided to mention Slytherin House. “I’ve got somethin’, Professors. The corridors in the Hufflepuff dungeons have been worse than usual for this time of year…”

That, of course, was the cue to begin the discussions about leniency and cleanliness and discipline, which Minerva was quite happy to stay out of for the moment. It was a frequent enough conversation that everyone was already well aware of her opinions, and she was far more amused watching Bathsheda abandon all pretence of paying attention and start doodling on her spare parchment. Severus looked equally bored and annoyed, although he at least appeared to have half an ear on the conversation—his mouth tightened in contempt every time Alastor spoke. 

…And somehow they’d gotten to the topic of security without her noticing. She shook herself as Severus finally broke his silence.

“—be _damned_ if I’m letting you search my office, pawing through every—”

Albus cleared his throat pointedly, cutting across the tirade and others’ uncomfortable fidgeting. “I do not think searches will be necessary. There is not a single person in this room whom I believe poses a threat to Hogwarts.”

“Yes, you’ve never said that and been wrong before,” muttered Severus. Bathsheda’s quill slipped from the parchment; Minerva resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. _Damn_ Filius’s whiskey.

Alastor snorted. “Maybe not intentionally,” he said, “but accidents happen. Better safe than sorry.” He looked pained to agree with Severus, but adamant.

“Unless the majority think it needed, I will not insist upon it,” said Albus; Minerva knew him well enough to recognise the touch of exasperation. “Submit your thoughts by the end of the week; I shall address it then. Now… are there any further announcements?”

Minerva sighed and nodded at Charity, who beamed. “Aye, Headmaster. It… well… my book has at last gotten final approval.” She seemed not to notice that not everyone joined in the applause and congratulations. “Thank you! I know not all of you have had a chance to read it, but if anyone would be interested in writing a short endorsement for the cover, I would greatly appreciate the support.”

“Are you _daft?_ ”

“Severus,” Minerva said in an undertone, but he wasn’t paying her the least bit of attention; he looked furious. Charity’s smile faltered.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s not enough you have to make yourself a target by attaching your name to your— _sentiments_ —you ask everyone else to risk themselves? Have you _any idea_ how difficult it is to keep your idiotic—”

“That is quite enough, Severus, thank you,” said Dumbledore sharply.

“Well, he’s not completely wrong,” growled Alastor. “It _is_ a risk. I haven’t read it, but I’m assuming it’s a pro-Muggle stance, Burbage?”

Charity nodded, her face reddening with anger. “There’s nothing wrong with that! I’m quite within my rights—people should be made aware—”

“Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Alastor agreed quickly. “But are you ready to put your name to it? In these times?” He smirked as he was greeted with silence. “Are any of you? Guilt by association… it’s a dangerous thing….”

“I trust,” Albus said firmly, “that everyone here is well aware of the risks associated with expressing certain opinions openly. That does not mean they should not be expressed, particularly when they are so well-articulated as Charity has written them.”

Charity blinked, pleased with the compliment, but looking as unsure as any of them—save two. Alastor made a noise of clear disagreement, and Severus looked murderous.

“You are _actually suggesting_ —”

“I am suggesting nothing,” said Albus, and Minerva could feel the anger underneath his mild expression. “Charity has put no small amount of effort into her research—and into the views that I think our world would be better for learning. There is inherent danger in expressing them now, yes, but do not think I will not make every effort to protect those who wish to show their support.”

Minerva frowned at that—were they not already taking precautions for family of staff?

“You’ll stretch us further, Albus,” Alastor said, so softly that she barely heard him, but Severus clearly did, as well.

“And don’t think I will have any part in it,” he hissed. Alastor glared over at him, but grumbled something that sounded like agreement. Minerva could have killed them both.

“I’ll support it,” Bathsheda said suddenly. “I’ll write something for you, Charity. I don’t care what the Ministry or—or _anyone else_ thinks. I haven’t got a family or anything outside here; they can’t come after me for it.” She stared defiantly along the table, glaring at Severus in particular. “Perhaps those of us in similar circumstances might consider that.”

Albus raised his hands for quiet before anyone else could respond. “This is something you are each capable of deciding for yourselves. Congratulations again, Charity. If there is nothing else, I will let you all go about your own business.”

Minerva turned to catch his eye, but Alastor engaged him almost at once; her eyes narrowed as Severus made a scathing noise and stalked from the room.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she muttered, ignoring the usual chatter in favour of going after him. He was halfway down the hall before she caught up. “Severus, a word. _Now._ ”

He sneered as she pointed him into an empty classroom. “What?”

She took a deep breath as she shut the door behind them—she was angrier than she’d realised, and it was an effort not to shout. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

“I would have thought that obvious.”

“Unfortunately, yes!” she snapped. “Severus, I am sorry you are under a great deal of stress—truly, I am—but that was entirely inappropriate!”

He blinked, confusion warring with his irritation. “But you—you agree with me, Charity is—“

“I’m not speaking of Charity right now. I am speaking of _you._ You, who saw fit to get himself drunk before meeting—do _not_ give me that look, Severus Snape, I saw the whiskey—and handled it exceptionally poorly. Challenging Albus at every turn, insulting your colleagues—”

“They _deserved_ —“

“They may very well have, at times, yes!” Minerva cried, her composure slipping. “But more than that, they deserve a semblance of _respect_ and _professionalism_ when we are in that room, as you very well know! I can’t believe you are forcing me to have this conversation with you again!”

Severus stared at her, though she credited the Ogden’s more than his self-control for not immediately snapping back—one good thing to be said for it, at least. “I… if you think everyone was being so professional—” he started finally, but Minerva forestalled him with an upraised hand.

“No, I do not—and they will be made aware of it,” she said firmly, but her temper had faded significantly; she had expected much more shouting from his end. “But again, we are not speaking of anyone else right now.”

He scowled. “Do you not care that essentially _all_ of my objections were because of what their actions will mean for me? For the Order?”

“Of course I care.” She was careful to hold his gaze long enough that he might see it was true. “But that does not excuse your behaviour.”

“Then—then report me. Dock my pay. Put me on probation, sack me, I don’t care anymore,” he said, leaning against a nearby desk. All his belligerence had gone, leaving him looking tired and sullen. Minerva let him brood a few moments before responding.

“We both know I won’t,” she said gently. “For more reasons than one. But if you don’t start pulling yourself together, Severus, so help me….”

“I understand.”

“Then we’ll say no more about it.” _As long as you don’t give me reason_ , she added silently; she watched him for a moment, then perched on the desk opposite. He fiddled with the cuffs of his robes, avoiding her eyes.

“Filius seemed glad of your company,” she said finally, and he looked up, startled; she wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by her words or that she was still speaking to him.

“I… he was just confirming he would help secure the castle. I also asked him about—well, it doesn’t matter, really. It didn’t help.”

Minerva hid her curiosity. “I’m sorry to hear it. He still enjoyed himself, though, I think. He usually does, when he spends time with you.”

She was careful not to smile—Severus eyed her, evidently searching for signs she was poking fun at his expense, and sighed when he found none. “If you say so.”

“I do.” She hesitated. “Last night, you mentioned—“

She broke off as he hissed in pain and clutched at his arm. Twice in as many days…

“So soon?” she murmured, and he shook his head.

“I suppose. It’s not like anyone tells me anything anymore.”

“Will you be all right, going...?” Minerva didn’t finish the thought, as she had declared the subject closed, but he understood nonetheless and snorted.

“Yes. I’ve done as much before.” He stood up and stretched, his face settling back into an expressionless mask. “I must go. I may or may not be back for dinner.”

He slammed the door, and was gone.


	8. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Wow. Really? If I were JKR, I’d be writing a prequel, not an AU fanfic. 
> 
> Author’s Note: All right--not my fastest update, but not my slowest! :P X-posted as usual.

“Well, at least you’re back for breakfast,” Minerva said quietly, shifting so that Severus had room to slide into his seat beside her. He nodded to her greeting and reached for the toast.

“Barely.” 

“So I assumed. We gave up hearing from you for the night around four. Tell me you didn’t just get back.”

“No. I slept about an hour. There was no point in waking anyone by then.”

Her lips thinned in disapproval, but she pushed the coffee towards him without further comment. He felt rather than saw her exchange looks with Albus—worried rather than angry, curiously enough—but he ignored them both. No, he _hadn’t_ reported last night; it had been the previous meeting all over again, raiding several more homes he hadn’t known existed and watching Lucius’s scowl deepen with every addition to his boarders. Severus hadn’t stayed for a drink, this time, and Voldemort had largely ignored him, which was more of a relief than anything even if it meant Albus would be more annoyed. 

“Are you all right?”

Minerva’s voice made him jump; he’d been staring at his plate for several minutes, unmoving. He shook himself and poured more coffee. “Fine.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she said drily. “You’ve an owl, whenever you decide to give the poor thing your attention.”

_An_ — _?_ Sure enough, one of the most disgruntled birds he’d ever seen was perched near the toast, and he was not surprised it bit him after he’d untied the magazine from its leg.

“Go away. I don’t need to pay for this,” he snarled, and it hooted indignantly before flying from the hall. “Potions journal,” he mumbled by way of explanation; Minerva had raised her eyebrows in an expression he fervently hoped was not amusement.

“Anything interesting?”

“I doubt it.” He set it aside without looking at it, but Minerva wasn’t paying attention anymore; she was frowning at the owl in front of Albus.

“Is that…?” she started, and Albus nodded.

“Yes. Again, nothing apparent. Excuse me—there is something I wish to try….” He gathered up the envelope and wandered from the hall, pausing occasionally to glance at the ceiling in thought.

“My god, he’s finally, _actually_ going mad, isn’t he?” Minerva muttered. Severus suspected it was more to herself than anything, but he snorted anyway.

“If I had a sickle for every time I’ve thought that….”

“You’d put Gringotts out of business,” she finished. “I just—well, I’m sure he’s told you what he thinks—but the idea is… it’s just _mad_.”

Severus shook his head; he stopped when it throbbed with tiredness. “What’s madder is he might be right.”

“ _What?”_

“I spoke with Filius—it—Minerva, I’ll explain it later; I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

She sighed and pushed more coffee in his direction before getting to her feet. “In your own time, then. Class in ten minutes.”

He scowled at the reminder, but more at the realisation that the hall had mostly cleared and he hadn’t noticed. This newfound inattention was going to get him killed.

* * *

“—don’t think she has,” Rolanda was saying firmly; she faltered as the staff room door opened, but visibly relaxed when she saw it was only Minerva. 

The Transfiguration mistress snorted. “Please, don’t stop gossiping on my account,” she said wryly, heading for a seat at the table and a much-needed midmorning cup of tea.

“Well, now we know it’s you, we won’t,” said Pomona. “Care to join us?”

“Mmm. And if I were the sort of person to do such a thing, what might we be discussing?” Minerva said, but the corners of her lips twitched.

“Charity, of course.” Rolanda shook her head. “Surely you didn’t sanction that request?”

“I said she could ask. I never said it was a good idea.”

“It’s unfortunate,” Pomona agreed. “She’s not wrong, and she’s been working hard….”

Rolanda snorted. “You’re not still thinking of writing something for her?”

“No.”

“Thought not,” said Rolanda, satisfied. Minerva eyed her over her cup.

“Did I miss something?”

“No,” started Pomona, at the same time Rolanda said “Filius talked her out of it.”

Minerva blinked, looking between them; Pomona’s cheeks had gone pinker than usual. “All right, fine, he did, yes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with agreeing with her,” said Minerva after a moment, deciding to leave the other line of inquiry alone. “The concern is only that now is not the time to be shouting about it.”

“Agreed,” sniffed Rolanda. “I—oh, hell. Snape is a prat, but he was right. I just hope not every meeting is going to turn into a pissing contest on whether he or Moody can be more disagreeable.”

“Oh, it won’t,” said Minerva darkly.

“Good, or I’ll pull a Sybill and just not come anymore.”

“In fairness, you could probably get away with it,” grumbled Pomona. “No such luck, here… ah, damn, that’ll be the bell. Back to class for me, then—keep her in line, won’t you, Minerva?”

“No need,” said Rolanda. “Got to prepare for the first year lessons. Oh, before I go—did you have a proposed date for Gryffindor Quidditch trials?”

Minerva frowned. “I didn’t, actually—I’ll ask Potter to get it to you by the end of the week.”

“Ta.” Rolanda threw her a lazy salute and left; Minerva sighed. She’d pushed Quidditch so far down on her list of priorities that if she didn’t know better, she’d question whether she’d remembered to tell Potter of his captaincy in the first place.

* * *

Even by his usual standards, the sixth year N.E.W.T. class was ridiculously small. Severus blinked at the group waiting outside the dungeon door and for once had absolutely no idea how to address the first day’s work. 

“Start on page three,” he said finally, after giving them more time than really necessary to unpack their cauldrons. “I want an acceptable sample on my desk by the end of the lesson. I don’t really expect many of you to manage it, but consider it the new standard. These potions are far more dangerous than anything you attempted in your O.W.L.s. Anyone unable to keep up or regard these lessons with the proper attention will be asked to leave and not come back.”

He glared particularly at Potter as he said it—the boy not only didn’t deserve to be here, but was very obviously the only one who didn’t look enthusiastic about getting started. The handful of Ravenclaws jumped up as soon as he waved them towards the storage cupboards, and Granger and Macmillan were just as eager. _Of course._ Even if Potter _hadn’t_ been here, this class would be a nightmare.

Still, at least most of them were halfway competent, if clearly a bit overwhelmed with the difficulty of the Draught of Living Death. Severus watched from the relative comfort of his desk, getting up to supervise more closely when he felt tempted to close his eyes.

“5 points for language, Macmillan,” he snapped automatically; the boy’s potion was entirely the wrong shade of green, but fixable, if he’d stop panicking and think.

_Unlikely._

Severus moved away once he’d ascertained the errant potion posed no threat to the class and frowned in the Gryffindors’ direction. Granger’s attempt was passable, but she was unlikely to finish by the end of the period if she kept her current pace; the reason why soon became clear.

“Potter!”

Harry jumped and nearly upended his entire jar of fluxweed into his cauldron. “What?”

“Mind your tone, boy… I do not recall telling you to work in groups. You are inconveniencing Miss Granger.”

“Sir, he’s just sharing my book—” Hermione started.

“And distracting the both of you with flipping back and forth.”

“It’s—it’s only for today, sir, until he gets his copy—”

“Oh? So you are unprepared for class, as well, Potter? Ten points from Gryffindor.”

“That’s not fair and you know it,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

_Life’s not fair, you stupid brat._ “Another ten for cheek. I suggest you get a spare book from the cupboard and finish your work _alone_ , before it’s ten more.”

Harry huffed and did as he was told, and Severus didn’t bother to tell him off for the barely audible “bloody waited until the end of class”; he was so tired that even taunting Potter had lost its fun. He barely looked up as everyone turned in their samples—none completely beyond hope, surprisingly enough—and waited until they’d filed out of the room before raiding his stores for another Invigoration Draught. He had a feeling he might actually kill his next class without it.

* * *

“Minerva! I was wondering if I might have a quick word,” said Filius cheerfully. Minerva shooed the last few third years out of her classroom and sealed the door for good measure. 

“Of course. What is it?”

“Well, I’ll be tweaking the wards to accommodate the extra Aurors, tomorrow,” he said, “but I wondered just how closely Albus wants everything tied to the foundational protections.”

Minerva blinked. “I honestly have no idea. I don’t even know how long he plans to be away—although presumably not more than a few hours.”

“Hmm. I’ll ask him, then. I don’t want to rely too heavily on the enchantments bound to him if there’s a chance he’s delayed.”

Minerva shook her head, suddenly twice as irritated with Albus as before. “I wish you luck. He won’t share with anyone where he’s going, or what he’s doing, or—well. Anything at all that would make this easier.”

“I don’t need to know so many details,” Filius said quietly, after a moment’s pause. “Does it really bother you so much? Not knowing?”

“I—” She hesitated. Well, as long as she was being honest…. “Yes. Yes, it does. This is a terribly inconvenient time to be leaving, and it—I suppose I just want to know that his errand is worth it.” _And that he’s not doing something too dangerous._

“Well, he obviously thinks it is,” said Filius wryly.

“Of course he does.”

“Well, then…?”

Minerva eyed him, weighing her options; she finally sighed and shook her head. “Filius, I know you wanted to stay out of certain things, as much as possible—but there are a great many things happening on that front right now. I fear his leaving may jeopardise some of it.” She offered a weak smile. “I know that’s not much of an explanation, but it will have to suffice.”

“Understood.” He reached up to pat her arm. “I trust you both, you know. Him to know what he’s doing, and you to know when we should be worried that he doesn’t. For whatever comfort that’s worth.”

“More than you might think, Filius; thank you.”

She took a moment to gather her books and followed him to the door, smirking slightly. “I’m going to owe you one hell of a drink when this is all finished, you know.”

“Oh, nonsense.” He cleared his throat, abruptly looking sheepish. “I—I am sorry for that, yesterday, Minerva,” he said. “I should not have—”

“I blame you for exactly none of that,” she said firmly.

“You are too kind.”

“And you are too responsible to pretend otherwise,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, well then, I’ll try not to disillusion you,” he chuckled. He nodded to a few of his Ravenclaws in passing; one hesitated and let her classmates pull ahead.

“Sorry to interrupt, Professor—may I talk to you later?”

“Don’t delay on my account, Miss Turpin,” Minerva said quickly. “I’m done with him for the moment.”

“Yes, quite all right,” said Filius, waving away further apologies. “What can I do for you?”

Minerva moved away, but her eyes narrowed as the girl began explaining. “Er… I think I might reconsider N.E.W.T. level Potions, Professor….”

* * *

“ _Severus!_ ” 

“Oh, what now?” he snapped; Minerva sounded exceptionally annoyed, but he really needed to finish straightening the class stores before the fourth years arrived. Minerva glared in silence from the doorway until he stopped and turned to face her.

“ _What?_ ”

“You know what. You are not to bully students—or anyone else here, for that matter!”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” he snorted. “Can Potter not even lose house points without—”

“I don’t recall mentioning Potter, Severus, but thank you for proving you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.”

“I suppose he said I was being ‘unfair’?” he sneered. “As though it was fair of him to interrupt Miss Granger’s work every two—”

“Neither of them said a word. But you do have a class full of Ravenclaws who are reconsidering taking your course if you continue teaching as you did today. I won’t have it, Severus.”

“I assure you, I was kinder than I could have been,” he said, edging back towards his supplies. “There was no reason for complaints. The Ravenclaws are not accustomed to having Potions with him—they will learn.”

“No, they will not,” Minerva hissed. “ _You_ will _stop_. I’m not any happier he’s in the class than you, but that doesn’t give you license to provoke him. If you’re capable of nothing else, you will ignore him unless he poses a danger to others. Is that clear?”

Severus shrugged. That day would come soon enough, he was sure—not that she would ever believe him when it did. “Fine.”

“I mean it.”

“I know. Anything else?” he said sardonically.

“Albus wants to see us after dinner. He said it won’t take long.”

He rolled his eyes—they both knew what _that_ meant. _Shall I bring pillows, then?_ He almost said it, but she still looked too displeased to find it amusing, so he nodded instead. She watched him for a few moments, then sighed.

“Severus, you’re better than this.”

“You know, I really don’t think I am,” he said irritably. He still flinched when she gave him a _look_ —he suspected Albus had learned it from her, and couldn’t do it even half as well.

“You’re better than this,” she repeated. “Don’t make me ask you again.”

She turned and was gone before he could say another word.

* * *

Minerva was not at all surprised when Severus sulked through most of dinner—but she frowned upon noticing Albus was only picking at his food as well. 

“You know, if you don’t like the steak, I don’t think the house elves will be terribly offended if you send it back,” she said quietly.

Albus offered a small smile and shook his head. “Forgive me. Merely thinking…. But I am afraid I shall have to cancel our meeting tonight, if that’s all right?”

“Of course,” she said curiously. “Perhaps sometime tomorrow?”

“Oh, please, no,” Severus muttered; she blinked and looked around at him.

“I didn’t realise you had such strong feelings about it.”

“Not you,” he hissed. He touched his arm briefly and pushed back his chair to leave; Albus eyed him warily.

“If there is any chance of a warning, Severus—”

“I can’t.”

Minerva watched him go and pushed away her own plate, her stomach knotting unpleasantly. “This isn’t normal.”

Albus ducked his head in acknowledgement. “It is different from what Voldemort has expected in the past, yes.”

“Weeks with nothing, and now every night?”

“I should like to hope this is a temporary arrangement, given the nature of what is occurring.”

“And if it’s not?” she said in horror. “Albus, he can’t keep this up.”

“I have considered that,” he said quietly. “I was hoping to speak of it tomorrow, depending on whether my owl is answered favourably.”

Minerva eyed him— _what are you planning_ now _, you impossible man?_ —then frowned. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that yet,” said Albus, smiling. “But—tomorrow. It may all be for naught.”

“And you’re not going to give me any idea which way I ought to hope, are you?”

“I wouldn’t be able to say one way or the other. Goodnight, Minerva.”

She glared after him.


	9. The Unknown Assignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JKR's. Her world, just playing in it.
> 
> Oh look, I did it again--ridiculous wait between chapters followed by a chapter of ridiculous length. I swear I actually write more than this. X-posted to FF.net. Comments welcome, as usual!

For the first time in his entire Death Eater career, Severus was completely and utterly _bored_ during a raid—although the term could really only be applied loosely. At some point during the night his group had grown tired of waiting and sat down, none of them really daring open complaint but all clearly annoyed.

“Don’t you _dare_ light that.”

Severus turned to see Travers scowling at a younger man he didn’t know, who had collected a small pile of twigs and leaves in an obvious attempt at a fire. He lowered his wand and sulked. 

“Fuck you, it’s cold.”

Travers made a scathing noise. “And _that’s_ the solution you came up with? Are you a wizard or not?”

“Shut up, both of you,” snarled Rowle. “I’m not getting tortured because you lot can’t keep your mouths shut.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. I really don’t think he’s coming,” the younger wizard shot back. “There’s something wrong with our Portkey, I’m telling you.”

“Oh, like you’d know,” snapped Travers.

“ _Shut up!_ ”

The three of them glared at each other for a moment before Rowle got to his feet, snorting in disgust. “I’m going to see if I can find anyone else. If you want to be stupid enough to leave, Fawley, be my guest. But I’m not risking it until we know for sure.” He stalked away, his footsteps fading remarkably quickly for someone without the faintest idea where they were. Severus wondered vaguely if they’d ever see him again.

_Fawley_. He glanced over at the younger wizard and filed the name away for future reference, although he was much more interested in what Rowle had said. 

“The Dark Lord is displeased with him?” he murmured to Lucius; they were both leaned against a tree far enough from the others that no one would notice they were talking, if they were quiet.

Lucius nodded almost imperceptibly. “He lost a lead on… whatever it was he was doing. No one is sure. But the Dark Lord was—unhappy. We are all _very_ sure of that.” He shuddered.

Severus remained quiet for a while, unable to bring himself to feel very sorry. “How is Draco?” he asked finally.

“Bored, but faring well enough.” Lucius shifted slightly and frowned. “The Dark Lord has high hopes for him, apparently.”

He sounded so bitter Severus nearly snorted. “You don’t, then.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Lucius sharply—it was clearly still a sore spot—but he sighed almost immediately. “Hopes don’t win wars.”

“No, they don’t,” agreed Severus, thinking of an entirely different child. “Yet everyone seems to trust in them anyway.”

“Foolish.”

“Yes.” 

They fell silent again, for such a long time Severus began to wonder if Lucius had fallen asleep; he hadn’t so much as shifted. Rowle still hadn’t returned.

“I think Fawley was right,” said Lucius suddenly, still in an undertone.

“Hmm?”

“We must have gotten the wrong Portkey.”

“Possibly.” 

“Well, at least it’s not our fault,” muttered Lucius.

_Like that really matters._ “No.”

Lucius stretched, looking as tired as Severus felt. “If it’s not our fault, we can probably go.”

For a moment, he sounded almost exactly as he had as a student, ready to give up after one of their long nights at the library; Severus pushed away the memory and nodded.

“Probably, yes.” 

But neither of them moved or spoke again for a very long time.

* * *

Minerva did not sleep well.

She could curse Albus for it, him and his bloody plans and cryptic words and smug expression—all far more annoying than usual—but even the thought of setting fire to his beard was not enough to relax her enough for sleep. She managed a few restless hours before giving up and calling Nimsy for tea.

_God bless the house elves_ , she thought—not for the first time—as she wrapped herself in her dressing gown and headed for her desk. She wasn’t foolish enough to attempt marking essays this early in the morning, but she had enough books on loan from the library that Madam Pince had started to drop hints about restricting further access if she didn’t read and return the current stack first.

It wasn’t the most stimulating of material, though, and the next thing she knew she was being prodded awake by tiny hands.

“Mistress McGonagall, Mistress?”

Minerva blinked—good lord, she hadn’t fallen asleep at her desk for _years_. She stretched and looked down; Nimsy was shifting from foot to foot beside her chair, eyes wide with concern.

“Is you all right, Mistress? I is sorry to be waking! But it is being time for professors to be getting up.”

“Yes, it is,” Minerva agreed. “Thank you. I’m all right, Nimsy—it was good of you to wake me. Perhaps more tea?”

“Right away, Mistress!” 

Nimsy was as good as her word; Minerva was barely halfway back to her room before she had a fresh cup. She let it cool while she pinned up her hair and changed into her teaching robes, then downed it quickly before heading to breakfast.

She was halfway across the Entrance Hall when the castle doors creaked open. She stopped dead in shock.

“Severus?” 

“Morning,” he muttered, moving towards the dungeons.

“But—you’re—you can’t _just_ be—it’s seven o’clock—”

“Please do send your protests to the Dark Lord.” 

“This is ridiculous!”

He snorted. “Is it? I hadn’t noti— _no_ , Minerva, save it. I suppose you’ll see me again in a few minutes.” He turned on his heel and stalked away. She watched him go and shook her head, barely even offended by his tone; this had to stop.

Albus and Aurora were the only ones at the head table when she arrived, and she was grateful for the relative quiet. Albus looked preoccupied, in any case, only brightening when an owl dropped an envelope onto his toast.

“Ah, excellent.”

Minerva eyed him over her tea. “I take it that is _not_ another one of your mystery letters, then?”

“Not at all,” he chuckled. “Just an old friend… you remember Horace, of course?” 

He was clearly teasing; Minerva snorted. “Just when I’d had a decade’s peace… what does he want? I thought you’d fallen out of contact since that party of his years ago.”

“Oh, no, I think I’ve been mostly forgiven for that,” said Albus, smiling. “Although, now that you mention it, we did lose touch in the last year…. I thought he, like most, feared the worst about my sanity after the Prophet spent so much time discussing it.” 

“He feared for his reputation, you mean,” Minerva muttered, but let it go at that; she’d had far fewer quarrels with Horace than expected, and those typically about his excesses rather than their Houses’ rivalry.

“Understandable… but I’m afraid I cannot completely flatter myself that that was the case. It seems he has been avoiding everyone.”

Minerva blinked in surprise—the Horace she knew thrived on attention, or at the very least on surrounding himself with people who attracted plenty of it. “Is he all right?”

“Apparently, yes, although it seems he has been dreading a visit from the Death Eaters, hence his going into hiding.”

“I would have thought they’d have plenty of fondness for him,” Minerva said, perhaps a bit more tartly than was fair; Albus raised an eyebrow.

“He has always refused to join their cause, Minerva. While that may not be the same as actively fighting against it, it still takes a great deal of courage for someone in his position.”

“I know. Never mind. I just thought he’d be safe… relatively speaking.”

Albus shrugged, but his expression abruptly grew serious as Severus slid into the seat beside her; he had clearly washed and changed, but his face was still a truly awful shade of grey. Minerva pushed the coffee towards him without comment.

Albus courteously allowed him to finish a cup before asking, “Am I to assume that you have only just—”

“Do you _really_ think I would have stayed out all night, otherwise?” Severus snapped.

“Forgive me. Perhaps we might discuss, later…?”

“No,” Severus said dully. “There is nothing to discuss. I know nothing. Not where we were, not where we were _supposed_ to be—our party was separated from the others because of a faulty Portkey; I expect someone is being punished for it as we speak—I don’t know anything that might have happened. We did nothing but sit and wait until it became obvious there had been a mistake. I have _nothing_.”

His voice had grown dangerous by the time he poured himself another drink; Minerva could practically feel the stress emanating from him in waves. She eyed Albus and shook her head slightly—he could push for details later.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Albus softly. “But I do still hope to see you this afternoon—and you, Minerva.”

“Of course, Albus.”

Severus murmured something that might have been agreement or a curse; she did not really care to find out which.

“Excellent. To that end, I’m afraid there are a few things I must do before then, so I shall take my leave. I wish you both a productive day.”

* * *

In the course of proving a point, Severus had once compared being sleep-deprived to being drunk. His past self had been sorely mistaken—he’d never had a hangover even half as bad.

He spent much of his classes sitting or leaning on his desk rather than pacing as he usually did, just to be safe, but he did garner a few odd looks here and there. He assumed that was more to do with the fact that he was having difficulty focussing on what he was saying, and hoped he hadn’t let slip anything too bizarre while his attention had been elsewhere.

Then again, he found it difficult to care much. If it was that important, someone would probably find a way to break through his daze.

“Severus? Did you hear me?”

He blinked. Pomona was watching him, eyebrows raised, and he realised he’d been staring through her. “I’m sorry?”

“Spare Tentacula leaves. I’ll send them to your office by tomorrow evening. Goodness, you’re distractible today.”

“I—yes.” Hollow might have been more accurate, but he wasn’t about to argue to the point—it was an effort to keep his focus on her, as somehow the slightest insignificant sounds seemed to have taken up all the room in his head. Charity’s spoon clinking in her afternoon tea, for example. He glared in her direction until Pomona cleared her throat again. 

“ _Severus._ ”

“Yes—I’m sorry. Tentacula leaves. Thank you.”

“We’ve established that already, lad. _Filius_. He spoke with Minerva earlier—he wants to see the both of you sometime today when you’re not busy with Dumbledore.” 

“Ah—yes, that’s fine.”

“I know. I’ve said you would tell him if you cannot. Are you all right? You’ve hardly touched anything.”

Severus glanced down at his plate. In truth, nothing the house elves had sent up for lunch looked appetising, but he didn’t dare pass up the meal given the likely chance he’d have to miss dinner again. “Fine. Just tired.” 

“Yes. Filius said he’d thought you’d had a late night.” 

“He won’t spread it around further if he knows what’s good for him,” Severus snapped. Pomona’s expression darkened.

“He hasn’t,” she said firmly. “And neither have I. But it’s not exactly a secret you’re worse off than usual, and I’d suggest you stop taking it out on those who don’t deserve it.”

He suppressed a flare of shame; it had been quite a while since Pomona had been truly sharp with him. He pushed away the remainder of his potatoes and sighed.

“I’m sorry. I—if Filius asks, my classes are finished at—”

He broke off, irritated with himself; Pomona had already taken her leave, looking more than a little annoyed. At this rate, no one would be speaking to him by the weekend.

* * *

Minerva barely looked up from her marking as the staff room door banged open; there was really only one person in the castle who typically entered a room that aggressively. He ignored her, in any case, and settled in one of the armchairs near the fire. She waited until she had finished another essay before speaking.

“I’m sending for tea in a bit, if you’d like some.”

“No. I’m just waiting for Filius.”

“Suit yourself. He’s not out of class for another half hour, if I recall correctly.”

Severus huffed irritably and fell silent; Minerva returned to her marking without further comment. She doubted even he had ever found Filius’ company wearing, but then, she knew how much worse everything looked when tired. And Albus’s approaching absence weighed heavily on them both. She frowned at the thought.

“Severus, I don’t suppose you managed to—?”

She broke off in a sigh; he was slumped in his chair, out cold. She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest for a moment before summoning her cup of tea and turning back to her work—that conversation could wait.

Filius was next to break the silence, entering the room some time later with far less hostility.

“Good evening, Minerva.”

“Good evening.” She smiled to show she meant no offence, but pressed a finger to her lips and jerked her head towards the fire. Filius followed her gaze and nodded.

“Ah, I was wondering. Pomona was rather put out with him—perhaps it’s best we let him sleep.”

“For a little while, at least. I don’t want to keep you waiting long.”

“Nonsense,” said Filius, hopping up on the seat opposite her. “It’s not terribly urgent. He asked me a question the other day, and I’m afraid I wasn’t of much help—but I did remember some books he might find useful. I was going to offer to send them down.”

Minerva nodded, summoning a plate of biscuits and pushing them in his direction. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it, Filius, thank you.”

“Not at all. As for the castle—” Filius paused, lowering his voice, although they were otherwise alone. “I’ve started placing more wards between classes. I expect to finish after dinner.”

“That’s when Albus plans to leave,” said Minerva, “unless something has changed.”

“Ah… perhaps _before_ dinner, then.”

“Only if Albus insists,” she countered, shrugging. “I hardly think Hogwarts will be under attack the instant he leaves the grounds—which reminds me—I don’t suppose you’ve made some allowances for Severus, as well?”

“Naturally. And our additional Aurors. Dumbledore introduced us this morning.”

“Excellent. I don’t know what we would do without you, Filius, I truly don’t." 

He smiled and nibbled at his pumpkin pasty. “Likewise, Minerva. And please do adjust any of the wards to your liking, if you see a need. I’m more familiar with Hogwarts’ reactions to Albus’s magic, but I’m trying to make them more comfortable with yours.” 

“They were plenty comfortable a few years ago. I’m sure whatever you’ve managed will be fine.”

“There was also less security a few years ago,” he sighed, “but I certainly do not begrudge anyone that.”

Minerva nodded. It was a grim thought—more security now, even more than when they had all believed Slytherin’s monster would close the school—although, in hindsight, she wasn’t sure more security then would have helped anyway. Filius eyed her, then pushed the biscuits back in her direction.

“It’ll be all right, Minerva. Dumbledore assured me he would send word by morning if he’s not already back by then. We’re more than capable of handling this.”

“Thank you, Filius. I know. I’m more worried for him. I suppose he still didn’t say…?”

“Not a word, I’m afraid.” 

“Of course.” She wrinkled her nose in disappointment. “Well, I’ve got one more chance at getting it out of him before he goes. Not that my hopes are high.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. The very best of luck.” Filius stuffed a few extra pasties into his pockets before heading for the door. “And to Severus, as well.”

“I’ll pass it along,” she confirmed. _Eventually_. She was long past being intimidated even on his worst days, but one didn’t tickle sleeping dragons without _very_ good reason.

One presented itself before long; he hadn’t so much as stirred by the time they needed to head up to Albus’s office. She considered her options for a moment—letting him sleep through it was out of the question, unless she wanted to upset Albus as well, but Severus would hardly be pleased at her waking him yet again in the space of a few days. Something subtler was in order, she thought wryly, and smashed her teacup hard against the floor.

She feigned surprise and took a moment to repair it; when she looked up, ostensibly to clear everything away, Severus had straightened and was blinking at the opposing armchair. She filed away her completed essays, carefully oblivious until he’d had plenty of time to get his bearings.

“We should go upstairs soon, I think, Severus.”

“We should,” he said quietly. His eyes were still bloodshot and slightly confused, but he made no mention of Filius, so Minerva let him draw his own conclusions and accompanied him to the headmaster’s office in silence.

Albus sounded entirely too cheerful as he welcomed them inside. Minerva narrowed her eyes in suspicion and settled into a chair, refusing the offered drink.

“You said something about a favourable owl, Albus?”

“I did, yes,” he said, nodding. “But—a little later. Am I to assume you have spoken with Filius regarding the state of the castle tonight? 

“Of course,” she said. “And if you are satisfied, I see no reason to suggest otherwise.”

She half-expected Severus to protest, but he merely nodded agreement. Albus smiled.

“Excellent. I shall be a few hours at the very least, I think—I will contact you if my plans change or I am not back by morning.”

“And if something should go wrong?” asked Severus.

“Then I will send word if I can… and in the highly unlikely event that I cannot, I have taken other precautions; Minerva, you will know immediately.”

Minerva nodded, unwilling to linger over this part of the conversation, nor to ask just how unlikely he found such circumstances to be. “I am aware of the protocols, yes.”

“Good. Now… Severus, are you expecting another call away this evening?”

“I have not been told anything either way, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied stiffly, “although it would not surprise me, given the last few days.”

“Nor me,” Albus said softly. “And I am sorry for what it is costing you. I don’t want to leave you doubting that.”

Minerva thought he might be asking too much; the set of Severus’s jaw said all too clearly that, whatever he believed about Albus’s sincerity, he was still angry.

“How considerate of you.” 

Albus didn’t comment on his tone. “I have a proposal for you that might help.”

“Meaning?”

“There is an old friend of mine who will be staying with us soon. He finds himself in need of certain protections, and I find I need his help with a few things, as well….”

Minerva started, their conversation from breakfast suddenly clicking into place. “Not—not Horace?” she said, frowning.

“Horace Slughorn, yes,” Albus confirmed, watching Severus closely. “While he will indeed be here for other purposes, it occurred to me that—were you both amenable—you might be able to pass along some of the more taxing or tedious of your classwork to him. I will, of course, continue to pay you as the head of your department and of Slytherin.”

Silence. Minerva looked between them, fully aware of both the logic of it and the near impossibility of seeming tactful; Severus had gone even paler, if possible. 

“You think me incapable of doing my job,” he said finally, barely above a whisper. Albus shook his head. 

“I think you _very_ capable of doing your job, Severus, but I do not expect you to work day and night without rest. As you can hardly opt out of your nightly activities for the time being, I thought, perhaps, if there were some way for me to lighten the load on your shoulders...” 

“And why should that suddenly concern you now?” 

“It concerns me, as I said, because I do not expect you to work without rest,” Albus repeated, “and I am not aware that your obligations have ever required you do so before now. If I’m mistaken, please accept my most sincere apologies that we didn’t have this conversation sooner.”

Severus huffed, but it seemed he could not think of anything more to say; he sat back in his chair, still looking mutinous. “Fine.”

Albus nodded. “We can discuss particulars another time, then.”

“Horace might not agree,” warned Minerva. “He was quite adamant about never teaching again the last time I saw him.” Privately, she thought Horace taking some of the Potions classes was an excellent idea—perhaps the younger forms; he was much more forgiving—but there was no need to make Severus feel as though everything was already decided.

“We shall see,” said Albus vaguely. “I’m sure he could be persuaded, for the sake of old friends and his favourite former student.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow—Albus still had something up his sleeve, then, as always. “You still haven’t said what he’ll be doing, otherwise. Or when he’ll be back.”

“I have told him he is welcome to move in beginning this weekend, though whether he still has things to put in order elsewhere is up to him. Certainly before next weekend. I don’t think he will protest at rooms on the second floor, do you?”

Minerva glared; he was avoiding her first question. “Albus. Why are you asking him back?”

“I require his assistance with… a project, you might call it. I believe it may reveal an important next step for our cause.”

_Illuminating as ever_ , Minerva thought, irritated; Severus snorted. 

“You haven’t seriously inducted him into the Order.”

“I haven’t, no,” Albus said, “but that does not mean he is not sympathetic, nor that he cannot be of help.”

“For god’s sake, if you’re trying to replace me, then just say so,” Severus snapped. “I’ll leave now and save you the trouble of finding an excuse, provided I’m still alive this time next week.”

“I am not trying to replace you, Severus, even if such a thing were possible,” Albus said firmly, but then paused. “If you can forgive me for asking… do you have reason to fear you might _not_ be alive this time next week? Or is this simply exhaustion talking?”

Minerva raised an eyebrow at the question, although she wondered, much to her immediate shame, whether Severus hadn’t been trying to gain points from the reminder of the constant peril of his position. Her heart sank as his angry expression flickered.

“He seems… different. He’s punished Rowle recently, badly, for a failure no one knew much about. As far as I can tell, he’s still upset with the Malfoys, and the others from last June. I—I still don’t know whether I have angered him; he hasn’t spoken to me for two days. But if I have… if I do, somehow… I am not sure what he will do. He is being far less lenient, even with his favourites.”

Albus’s eyebrows drew together in worry. “No one else in his ranks can play your part. He needs you.”

“Does he? So much that he does not speak to me, keeps me in the dark for months?”

“He needs you,” Albus repeated, although Minerva wished it didn’t sound so much like he was trying to convince himself. Apparently Severus heard it too; his face hardened again. 

“Well, I’m glad that makes one of you.”

“Severus…”

“And if he’s planning to replace me, at least he has the courtesy to do it behind my back,” he spat viciously. He got to his feet and turned away.

“Severus, don’t—”

He made a scathing noise; the door slammed behind him so hard that a few of the former headmasters were rattled in their picture frames. Minerva stared at the spot where he’d vanished.

“Well, that went well.”

Albus sighed. “It could have gone better,” he agreed, “but, if I am honest, I expected him to take it much worse.”

They were both quiet for a while. Minerva had lost count of the discussions that had ended badly between him and Severus in the past week. It irked her, somewhat, that Albus would probably expect her to play peacemaker again—but at least this time it was mostly a matter of wounded pride.

“It’s for his own good,” she said finally. Albus nodded, although he still looked pensive.

“I think he will accept my offer in the end, yes. But I would rather he do so for his own sake than out of any belief he cannot choose otherwise.”

“Let him be, then—at least until Horace is settled in.”

“Certainly.” He sighed. “I would not have insisted he return if it were not of the utmost importance. You know that.”

“I do. And I don’t suppose in the course of tonight’s—protocols—you might have left me more information about your project with him? Or more about your errand?”

“In the event that something goes horribly, terribly wrong, yes,” Albus said, with a slight smile.

“That isn’t funny,” Minerva snapped, patience worn down at last. “It’s not funny at all. I’m not stupid, Albus. I know you’ve been taking more risks, I know you’re tempted to do so more now that everything has been turned upside down in the past week—and I’m trusting you. But that isn’t going to last long from everyone if you keep on as you are. I don’t see why you can’t trust us with a little more of what goes on in that brilliant mind of yours, especially now.” 

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Albus said quietly, after a moment. “I trust you with my life, Minerva, and more. And of course the Order has my trust, as well. But… I am afraid we have reached a point in our work where we must dive into the realm of guesswork and an old man’s suspicions if we hope to do more than react to Voldemort’s next moves.”

“Is that not why we have Severus? Or any other informants you’ve not seen fit to share with me?”

“Yes—and no. Information makes it possible to act, certainly—protect those who can be protected, thwart further attempts to seize power or destroy—but much as I hope those are still our concerns, I am speaking now of a more permanent solution.”

Minerva thought she was not shocked, really, but she still felt dizzy with some unknown emotion. “You’re trying to find a way to kill him.”

Albus dipped his head. “And therein lies the guesswork—or, if I may flatter myself, at least a few half-educated theories. But unfounded hope is a terrible thing. The risk of sharing what bits and pieces I have now—or even that I have any bits and pieces…. I dare not, until more is certain.” 

“But you will—eventually—make it known?” She was not encouraged by the way Albus stared at her. 

“I am not sure. Perhaps only where need be.”

“Not to me, then.”

“Not yet, no. Perhaps in time. I shall have to investigate further before I decide.”

Minerva swallowed her protests—she’d somehow learnt more than expected, and yet hardly anything she wanted to know at all. “Well, then. I don’t suppose you might at least tell me where you’re going tonight?”

His slight smile was back. “South.”

“Well, _that_ certainly narrows it down; thank you.”

* * *

By the time he was halfway through his plate of pork chops, the only thing Severus felt up to seriously considering was whether he or Albus would be leaving the castle first tonight. Everything else he buried beneath the desperate desire to sleep and the will to preserve enough energy not to do anything stupid when the Dark Lord inevitably called.

Everyone largely ignored him, for which he was grateful—although Minerva was as observant as ever and often passed dishes along without him asking. He almost thanked her, but she looked nervous, shooting glances at Albus as though afraid he would disappear mid-meal, so Severus said nothing. He _certainly_ didn’t have the energy to work out what he should feel towards the headmaster at the moment. 

His arm burned. He flinched more out of habit than anything and rose to leave without excusing himself. Minerva and Albus would already know where he was going, and it was likely everyone else thought him rude enough not to bother with social graces, although he still felt a moment of shame at Filius’s raised eyebrow. 

“Severus?”

He looked around halfway across the Entrance Hall; Albus had followed him. He held back a snarl and tried to temper the edge he’d recognised in his own voice all day.

“What?”

Albus hesitated, and for a moment Severus wondered if despite his efforts he’d crossed a line, but the headmaster finally sighed. “Please be careful.”

Severus nodded, unwilling to waste precious ability to focus on coming up with an appropriately cutting parting shot. “And you, Headmaster.”

“Good luck. If—if the Order may be able to help, Minerva or I can try calling—”

“No.”

Severus hurried away, unsure whether it was more to avoid being late for the Dark Lord or to avoid Albus’s questions. He still hadn’t come to a satisfactory conclusion by the time he’d arrived at the Malfoys’—but he pushed it from his thoughts as he entered the old dining room and his insides grew cold with dread.

He was alone with the Dark Lord.

“Severus. Come sit.”

He forced himself to count his steps on the way to the offered seat—anything to keep his mind off the horrible feeling that he was late, or else had done something wrong. Voldemort traced patterns on the tabletop with a skeletal finger. 

“I have been neglecting you, my friend, but no longer. Let us talk.” 

“My Lord has been busy,” Severus murmured. “And I cannot pretend any news I might bring is more important than the work you have been setting us recently.”

“Such work will be less frequent, now,” said Voldemort. “The mistakes regarding last night’s activities cannot happen again. Hasty preparations are to blame… but if I must postpone such outings to make certain my followers are up to the task, I will. Weariness makes them sloppy.”

Severus wondered if it was a deliberate taunt, or merely statement of fact—he’d yet to find a failsafe way to tell the difference, and the Dark Lord’s stare didn’t help. He carefully kept his thoughts on the faulty Portkey, on Fawley’s grumbling, on Rowle abandoning his post…

Voldemort smiled thinly. “Indeed. Even the wicked must rest, to better advance next time. I am almost sorry I cannot have allowed it of you, tonight, as well… but you have always been a cut above the rest. I also have my reasons from keeping you from Hogwarts, tonight—but how is Dumbledore taking your recent absences?” 

“Poorly,” Severus said immediately, mind racing. _He can’t know… he can’t know Albus is leaving, it’s impossible…_. “I am unsure whether it is because my absences are being noticed, or that he wishes to keep a closer eye on me. He still trusts me as much as ever, of course, but I cannot pretend the lack of Slytherin House has not—ah, strained our relationship.”

“Certainly. And it will become more so—as will his relationship with the rest of the Order.” 

“My Lord?”

“You and I have often said Dumbledore’s greatest weakness is his insistence on seeing the good in others, but in the case of the Order, it has created unquestionable loyalty. Excluding present company, of course.” 

“Of course,” Severus agreed.

“It is time to challenge that. We shall see how loyal the Order is when he is less willing to trust them and his patience is limited.”

Severus didn’t bother to point out that the Order was already well accustomed to Albus keeping secrets, nor that Albus’s patience had been plenty limited as of late—surely the Dark Lord had been able to work that out for himself, even if Severus hadn’t already confirmed it for him many times. _There is something else amiss, then._

Severus kept his face carefully blank. “And what is my role in this?”

“I will need _your_ patience, Severus. I expect you to remain in Dumbledore’s inner circle, but I’m sure he will begin to question even those closest to him. Some doubts may do us good… but it is a matter that requires delicate balance. I trust that is something of which you know the value.”

The threat was clear. Severus was not fool enough to take it as praise for his skills as a spy. “I will not fail you, my Lord.”

“You rarely do, Severus. Now, come. I have another favour to ask of you tonight.”

Voldemort rose from his seat and made for the staircase; Severus followed him at a distance he thought respectful. He hardly dared to glance at other pathways as they made their way further downwards; he was uncomfortably aware that the Malfoys had a dungeon that had often hosted the Dark Lord’s prisoners… but they turned off the main corridor and into a small but serviceable laboratory Severus recognised from some of his initial days as a Death Eater.

Voldemort stopped beside the workbench, eyeing the large iron cauldron with disinterest. “It has been a long time since I have required your skills as a brewer, Severus, but I have not forgotten your gifts. I would not waste them on trivial potions.”

Severus nodded, but stopped as his head throbbed. “What do you need?”

“Nothing that requires your exceptional creativity, I’m afraid.” Voldemort’s eyes glinted with amusement. “This—” he waved his wand, producing a length of parchment covered in sharp writing— “is something of my own creation. I have no doubt you will find it simple in comparison to some of yours, but its brewing does involve some delicacy. It’s rather… disastrous to get wrong. I would trust no one else’s standards of detail.” 

“I—am honoured, my Lord,” Severus murmured. _Perfect._ Something else demanding focus he didn’t have tonight. 

Well, at least he wasn’t killing someone.

“You will find everything you need here,” Voldemort continued. “Bottle it in crystal when you have finished, and then you may go. I have other things to attend to tonight.” 

“Yes, my Lord.”

* * *

“Enjoy your drink, Albus,” Minerva said, unsmiling. He’d barely seen Severus off before he’d decided to leave as well, claiming a visit to the Hog’s Head.

“Oh, I believe I will,” Albus said. “Shall I bring you back anything? Or you, Filius?”

Filius rolled his eyes. “No, thank you.”

“I think not, Albus,” Minerva echoed. _Not unless it’s news._ _And yourself, safe._

Albus smiled as though he’d heard her thoughts. “I’ll give Aberforth your best.”

“And we’ll hold down the fort while you’re away. Go,” Minerva said, making a mental note to speak with Aberforth on the off chance Albus did plan to stop there on his way elsewhere. Still, she doubted it.

Filius patted her arm. “Speaking of drinks… I have an excellent single malt I’ve been saving for a night in. Perhaps you’d grant me your opinion?”

She watched Albus disappear through the front doors; a few moments later, the tingle of the castle wards settled over her skin. She shivered slightly. “I hope you weren’t just saying that to stop me stalling Albus.” 

“Of course not,” Filius said firmly. “Goblin-made, aged 200 years with essence of mithril—I would never joke about a thing like that. Come on.”

“All right. But only one,” she warned, accompanying him up the stairs.

“I wouldn’t dream of incapacitating our deputy headmistress,” Filius said seriously.

“Good, or you’re taking my rounds for the rest of the term.”

“I will happily take them tonight, if it will help.”

Minerva sighed. “I appreciate the offer, but I will still need to cover Severus’s, unless he returns before midnight.”

Filius eyed her as he gestured her into his office. “Do you think that likely?” 

“No.” Minerva sank into one of his cushy armchairs. “If I didn’t think others would complain, I’d remove him from the schedule entirely. He’s had so much business elsewhere…”

“Keep him on it.”

She looked up in surprise; Filius poured a careful measure of golden liquid into two tumblers before elaborating. “I realise if his… business… keeps him away as often as it has this week, it might be difficult, but I think it will help with a sense of normalcy. I will take the shifts where he is absent or too tired.” 

“I… Filius, that is generous, but—I cannot possibly ask you—”

“If Albus can ask him to do what I think he’s doing, then you can certainly ask me to walk a few extra rounds,” Filius said. His eyes glittered with strange understanding; Minerva was eerily reminded that her dear friend was descended, however distantly, from the cleverest of goblins. Then he blinked, and the moment passed.

“Besides, I think more walking would do me good,” he said cheerfully, patting his middle. “I’m afraid I’ve been indulging entirely too much, this last half century.”

Minerva smiled. “Very well. Thank you. But you _will_ let me know when there are nights you’d rather not, won’t you?”

“Agreed.” He passed her the scotch, and she sniffed it appreciatively. There really was something to be said for magical distilleries, even if it was, strictly speaking, cheating… 

“Your verdict?” 

“Mmm.” The warm tingling was pleasant in a way the wards were not. “Like phoenix song. Perhaps you’ve found Albus’s Christmas present?” 

“Ooh, now there’s an idea.”

* * *

He wasn’t _panicking_ , precisely, because Severus Snape did _not_ panic—but even his best attempts at Occlumency could not drown out the thought that he was, very possibly, completely and utterly _fucked._

Over a potion, no less. How stupid. 

_Weariness makes them sloppy._ He’d proven himself no better. The Dark Lord’s potion was absurdly simple compared to others he dealt with on a daily basis, and yet he’d managed to jeopardise everything by something as ridiculous as a slip of the knife. 

No. _Stop and_ think _, you idiot._ He could salvage this—he had to.

He healed the wound quickly—he’d certainly cut himself much worse before—but there was no telling whether he’d contaminated his supplies beyond proper use. If the Dark Lord’s potion was as finicky as he claimed… 

There was nothing else for it. He Scourgified the lot—knife, bench, roots and all—then scrubbed them by hand several times for good measure. The water wouldn’t hurt the ginger, but if he’d left the slightest trace of blood, he’d have worse than a mildly stabbed finger to contend with.

He examined everything as long as he dared, but he had to risk it; the Dark Lord’s notes seemed quite adamant about only simmering for ten minutes. He wished they had more detail—proper colour, consistency, steam, smell, _anything_ to indicate he was on the right track… But he wasn’t about to ask, and the odds were slightly more in favour of trying the ginger than letting the whole thing boil and waste, so he tossed the roots into the cauldron and stood back, waiting.

Nothing.

That was a good thing, probably, although he hated that he really had no idea. Most of the ingredients were commonplace enough, and he tried to run through tables of combinations and reactions in his head, but there were too many possibilities—he couldn’t even decide whether this was supposed to be a poison, let alone anything else it might do. 

Something for further research, then. He studied the parchment while the potion cooled, the words occasionally blurring; he hoped that was more to do with himself than a side effect of the fumes.

Either way, he had to leave, now, before he did anything else stupid or Splinched himself returning to the castle.

He bottled the potion as quickly as he dared and stalked back through the manor, Disapparating before the door swung shut behind him.

“ _Shit._ ”

Hogwarts was significantly wetter than he’d left it, but after a moment, he thought better of hiding behind a charm for the walk up to the castle—at least the rain would help keep him awake. It was a losing battle, now that the immediate danger had passed, and he reached the Entrance Hall sorely tempted to curl up in the nearest abandoned side chamber for the night. He barely glanced around before slumping back against the doors. God, he was _so tired…_  

“Are you hurt?” 

He opened his eyes to see Minerva moving towards him, scanning for any apparent sign of injury. He shook his head.

“No.” He suddenly realised he was dripping all over the floor and straightened up, drawing his wand to dry himself. “Is Albus back?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Damn.”

Minerva eyed him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate. She sighed when he didn’t. “Shall I debrief you, then?”

_No. Bed. Sleep. Please._ Severus tuned out the mantra his mind had adopted sometime within the last few minutes and nodded. “Your rooms?”

“Of course.” She accompanied him up the stairs in silence, for which he was grateful; it was difficult enough to gather his thoughts as it was. He followed her mechanically, somehow remembering to toe off his boots before she pointed him to one of her settees. 

“Tea, I think,” she said quietly, and he nodded. She seemed to produce a tray within moments, and waited for him to revive a bit over a cup before prodding. “Well?”

“There was no one else,” he said dully. “Just me. He wanted news. I didn’t give him anything concrete. He said he hoped the daily summonses were making Albus suspicious.”

Minerva snorted. “Worried, certainly, yes.”

“It was good Albus did not mobilise the Order,” Severus continued, staring at his teacup. “There was nothing. He did nothing. He confessed he just wanted me away from Hogwarts for a while tonight, I don’t really know why.” 

“Does he know? About Albus?”

Severus shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. He acted as though he thought Albus was here, and asked what he thought of me leaving so often… I told the truth. I couldn’t think what else to say.”

“That was probably wise,” said Minerva. “I can’t imagine he would’ve believed you if you said Albus was pleased.”

“No. And he is pleased that Albus isn’t.” Severus paused, running a hand over his face. He was repeating himself. _Stop repeating yourself, idiot…_ _Bed. Sleep. Please…_. 

“—Severus?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Is there anything else?”

“Not really, no,” he said, not looking at her. Her voice had softened considerably, or perhaps it was just his imagination; he did not really care to find out which. “He had me brew something, it—I didn’t recognise it. Something of his; he didn’t tell me what. I do remember some of the ingredients, if I could write them down?”

“Of course.” Minerva set aside her tea immediately and summoned a quill and parchment. “You will be able to find out what it does?”

“Perhaps,” said Severus vaguely, concentrating on his writing. Dittany, belladonna, seven stirs anti-clockwise; acromantula venom—five drops—or was it three? _Think…_ No, definitely five—then three stirs clockwise—no, four— _shit._ The parchment swam in his vision, distracting him; he rested his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until he saw stars. _Think,_ think _, stupid… you know this, you made it, it was simple…_

He jolted awake suddenly, blinking at the parchment; to his dismay, it was covered in indecipherable scribbles. He looked up to see Minerva watching him, her face set in an expression he could not read. 

“You’re staying here tonight.”

It took him a moment to decide whether he’d heard her correctly. “What?”

“Stay here,” she repeated. “Severus, you’re dead on your feet. I won’t ask you to walk back to the dungeons like this, and quite frankly, I don’t trust you to use Floo powder properly at the moment. You’re welcome to stay here.”

“I—“ He hesitated, shock and a fair amount of pride warring with the desire to collapse on the spot. “Minerva, I—I can’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

He stared at her dumbly, but the cushions beneath him were comfortable, and the dungeons were several floors away... He swallowed and nodded, looking back into his cup to avoid Minerva seeing his embarrassment. He was too useless to _walk_ to his _own bloody rooms_.

“I’ll get you some pillows,” she said, and at least she had the courtesy to pretend she wasn’t hosting him out of pity. She paused in the doorway. “The loo’s through here—second door on the right.” 

He nodded again as she disappeared from sight, concentrating hard on finishing his tea instead of falling asleep before she returned. It was more difficult than he’d thought; he eventually resorted to getting up to wash his face instead, glad he didn’t meet Minerva in the hall.

His first thought was to avoid the mirror, but he immediately wished he hadn’t; his eyes fell on the vanity instead and he abruptly felt his throat constrict. Minerva had laid out a pair of pyjamas alongside a spare set of towels—hastily transfigured, obviously, but still soft—god, she was being kind. He was useless to the point of burdening her with an unwelcome guest, on a night she was running the castle, no less—and she was being _kind_. His dignity might never recover.

Not that he had a great deal of it left, anyway. He left that depressing thought where it lay and wandered back to the sitting room, where the settee boasted several new pillows and looked suspiciously as though it had been widened a bit. Minerva glanced up from her book.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

“I might sit up a while, yet. I can dim the fire if you like.”

“I—it’s not necessary.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgement and returned to her reading. He ignored the urge to say something further—no need to make things even more awkward—and curled up under her tartan throw. It smelled like her, he thought vaguely, cataloguing the scents in an illogical last-ditch effort to stay awake; heather and jasmine and something he was too tired to place, but still distinctly her, all at once sharpened steel and comforting warmth. He pulled it tighter around his shoulders and was asleep within seconds.


	10. The Swordbearers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine. Remember those elements of HBP / DH coming in that I talked about? Yeah. :P
> 
> Author’s Note: Whoa, I updated within a month? O_O X-posted, as usual. Thanks for reading, and please feel free to leave any comments, questions, etc! :)

“Ow—OW!—what the _fuck—!_ ”

Minerva blinked, then was out of bed with her wand drawn in moments; if Severus’ shouting hadn’t managed to wake her, the screeching of an angry phoenix didn’t leave her much choice.

“What on _earth—_ ”

She stopped in the doorway and re-lit the lamps—and abruptly shook her head to clear it. Of all the things she’d ever expected to see, this wasn’t one of them: Severus was half-cowering against her pillows and trying to swat at Fawkes, who was shrieking and pecking and flapping and generally kicking up a fuss in the way only distraught phoenixes could. Minerva took pity on them both and set a shield charm between them, although Fawkes registered his displeasure with an especially piercing scream.

“ _Quiet_ , you daft bird—Severus, what’s going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he panted. “Unless Dumbledore regularly sets him on staff members spending the night where they shouldn’t.”

 _SCREEEE_ — _!_

“HUSH!” Minerva bellowed. She pulled her hair away from her face and frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never seen him act like this.” 

“Well, unless you’ve got any other—”

“MINERVA!” 

They both jumped at the unexpected shout and looked around; a former headmaster was waving frantically from the painting of a lion hanging above her fireplace.

“Everard, what are you doing here?” she said, blinking. “How did you even get—“

“No time,” Everard wheezed. He edged away as her lion nudged him curiously. “Albus—back—went wrong—needs help—” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“ALBUS NEEDS HELP!” he roared.

Severus was already pulling on his outer robes. “Where?”

“He’s in his—“ Everard blinked. “Oh—Professor Snape—he sent Fawkes for you—" 

“We’d noticed,” Minerva snapped, struggling halfway into her boots. “ _Where,_ Everard?”

“Office. He’s been cursed.” 

Well, that explained why Everard was here rather than shouting at Poppy, Minerva thought wryly. She reached for the Floo powder on the mantle.

“We’ll meet you there. Go.”

Everard nodded and vanished, Fawkes not far behind. Severus hesitated and gestured her into the hearth first, but she pulled him in beside her. 

“Nonsense—together. _Headmaster’s office!_ ”

She stumbled out of the hearth far less gracefully than usual and looked around; Severus swore and picked himself up off the rug.

“What did he _do?_ ”

Minerva inhaled sharply; Albus was slumped over in his chair, eyes closed. But his _hand…_  

It was blackened, perhaps burnt, and looked almost rotted; her stomach flipped. “What curse could possibly—?” 

“I don’t know,” Severus snapped. He waved his wand towards the headmaster and cautiously moved closer. “But it’s spreading.”

“ _Spreading_ —”

“Unless you’ve anything useful to say, don’t distract me!”

“Then what can I do?”

“I don’t know yet.” Severus frowned, murmuring spells she didn’t recognise under his breath. She glanced up at the portraits lining the office—she felt so helpless, doing nothing. She caught a past headmistress’s eye and swallowed.

“Dilys, what happened?”

Dilys shook her head. “I know little more than you. He returned only minutes ago—he looked bad. Made it to his desk and said something to that bird of his, I didn’t hear—”

“Minerva, help me.”

She turned immediately; Severus’s face had lost all colour. Worse, he looked _afraid._ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him truly frightened. 

“I’ll be back in a moment. Keep an eye on him, and don’t touch _anything._ Especially that.” He pointed at something on the desk, and she moved closer; an ugly gold ring set with a black stone glinted atop some paperwork in progress. She recoiled slightly—she may not have shared Severus’s areas of expertise, but it still reeked of Dark magic.

“All right. Hurry. In case he—”

Severus didn’t need telling twice. He practically dove for the fireplace and vanished again before she could ask what she could do if Albus woke.

Not that she was counting on it. She’d never seen him so fragile.

Abruptly, she was angry. He had to have known this was a possibility before he left—well, maybe not this _exact_ predicament, but surely he would have known if his errand was dangerous. For him not to tell her, or, apparently, anyone… to just smile away her concerns, when she’d asked… _Damn you, Albus._

“Any change?”

Severus had returned, bearing several phials of potions. She shook her head. “Not that I can see.”

He waved his wand over Albus’s hand again, apparently satisfied, if definitely not pleased. He held out the largest bottle.

“Get that into him. There’s something I want to try.”

He went back to his incantations, and Minerva took a deep breath. This was in the range of her experience, giving patients their potions, although it had been a long time since she’d done so…

She stifled a shriek as it took effect immediately, and he stirred. “Albus! Can you hear me?”

His eyelids flickered, and he smiled faintly. “Ah, Fawkes did find you then, Minerva. Severus.”

Severus glared. “ _Why_ would you put on that ring?” he snarled. “It couldn’t be _more_ obviously cursed!”

“Severus, perhaps this isn’t the time—” Minerva started.

“No, he’s right,” Albus said. “I should have realised, but I was tempted… a foolish error. But I wonder now—” He sat up a bit straighter and reached towards the ring, frowning; Severus snatched his arm away.

“ _NO_ , Albus! Do you want to lose the other hand, too?”

“ _Lose_ it?” said Minerva, horrified. “You don’t mean—”

“It’s certainly not going to get any better than that!” Severus said furiously. She wondered whether his anger was directed at Albus, too, or at his own inability to do more. “Poppy will have your head when she sees, and mine, most likely—”

“And that _is_ something for another time,” Albus said. “For now… given my current state, I think it best I ask you to assist in removing the curse from that ring. I believe destroying the ring itself will do—perhaps Fiendfyre?”

He’d gone mad. She’d been saying it for years, but Minerva had largely been joking; now, it seemed more probable than ever. She barely stopped gaping at him long enough to register that Severus was doing the same—or, at least, he had been, before he exploded.

“I am NOT conjuring Fiendfyre _in your office_ , Headmaster!”

“Then perhaps Minerva will oblige—?” 

“No!” she snapped. “Of all things! Albus, what the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

“Also a question for another time,” he said. “But it is of utmost importance that we destroy that ring immediately.”

“I am not conjuring Fiendfyre,” Severus repeated.

“Another way, then. I have reason to believe that may be of use, if you would?” He nodded towards the bookcase—or, rather, to the glittering sword encased on a higher shelf. Severus shook his head. 

“The sword of Gryffindor is not mine to wield.”

“The sword belongs to no one, and therefore anyone worthy may wield it.”

“I am not.” 

“I believe you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not one of your bloody Gryffindors, Albus—”

“I still say you should have been.”

“Do _not_ start that again! I am _not!_ ”

 _Oh, honestly_. Minerva ignored their bickering and retrieved the sword herself, clearing her throat pointedly.

“ _Enough_ , both of you!”

It was oddly gratifying to know that she could silence grown wizards as easily as a class of first years. She eyed them both sternly.

“As I have had no difficulties holding this, I assume the sword believes I can overcome the temptation to run you both through with it,” she said. “But let’s not spend much longer testing that. Now, what should I do?”

“What else do you do with swords?” said Severus dully, though he still shot Albus a nasty look. “Stab it. The ring, I mean.”

“That should suffice, yes,” Albus confirmed.

As far as bizarre instructions went, he’d given her much worse before; she nodded and adjusted her grip on the sword. It seemed rather light to make much of a dent in anything, but if Albus was sure… 

She eyed the ring glittering on the desk. The Dark magic was strong, almost nauseating, but there was still something about it that made her stop. Perhaps this was a waste of time—it need not be destroyed like this, or perhaps at all, really—it wouldn’t fix the damage already done to Albus, and as long as no one touched it there was no reason to—

“Minerva, what are you waiting—?”

“ _Stop_ talking, Severus,” she snapped, tearing her gaze away to glare at him. He looked about to protest, but his eyes darted to the sword in her hand, and he seemed to think better of it. She glanced over at Albus, and— _of course. Albus_.

He’d told her to destroy the ring. It had cursed him. Of _course_ she would destroy it, immediately, it was just an ugly lump of metal—

She swung the blade down, hard, and flinched at the slight hissing as the gemstone split in its setting and issued a faint spiral of smoke. Her skin prickled unpleasantly, although the tainted magic seemed to have cleared from the room.

“Is it—is it safe?”

Albus considered for a moment, then picked up the ring again before she could protest. He nodded.

“I think it is sufficiently damaged to cause no more trouble,” he said finally. He looked remarkably satisfied for someone who had seemed at death’s door only minutes ago, though he was still very pale. “However, that does raise the question… well, perhaps not… but I should still like to examine Gryffindor’s sword in the near future, just to see…”

Minerva dropped her attention to the sword—still shining and unblemished as ever—and sensed that her use of it was finished for the moment; best not to tempt fate, and put it away.

“Not tonight, you won’t,” she said firmly. “You ought to see Poppy, if anything.”

“Tomorrow, yes. I believe I should explain this as soon as possible,” Albus said, examining his hand again. “But for now, I am perfectly all right, if rather tired.” He paused. “You did well, Severus.”

“Are you going to bother telling me what it was about that ring you found so _tempting_ that you thought it worth—worth—”

Minerva blinked; Severus sounded as furious as he had been the first night of the term. Well, he _was_ in need of much more sleep than the few hours they’d gotten, but still…

“I’m afraid not, no,” said Albus. “But I think it very much worth its price.”

“ _Very much worth_ —Albus, don’t you realise what you’ve _done?_ ”

His voice had risen nearly to shouting, and Minerva paused in replacing the sword to frown at him, though his back was to her. Really, it was one thing to be angry—she was planning on a discussion with Albus herself—but this was bordering on hysteria. _Don’t you start going mad, too, Severus, I swear…_

But her stomach dropped as Albus’s expression grew sad. “Tell me what it is that you don’t think I realise, Severus,” he said quietly.

“It—the curse is—I—you can’t—” Minerva was suddenly very glad she couldn’t see Severus’s face; incoherence never boded well. “The curse isn’t broken. I’ve—I’ve contained it to your hand for the time being, but it—that is all we can hope to—it will spread, Albus.”

“What does that mean?” she asked sharply. “Surely, there is something we can—and it can be contained again, if necessary—”

Albus acted as though he had not heard her. “How long do I have?”

_Clang._

The sword miraculously missed her foot, though she was not sure she would have noticed if it hadn’t. “ _Albus!_ ”

“I—I don’t—maybe a year, perhaps more…?”

“Then that is—”

“Albus Dumbledore, don’t you _dare_ ignore me!” Minerva snarled, marching back to his desk, sword forgotten. “Tell me you did not knowingly sacrifice your own _life_ for the sake of whatever this is, _without warning any of us!_ Tell me that is not what you’re saying!”

Albus surveyed her calmly. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, my dear.”

“You should have brought someone with you,” Severus said, suddenly quiet. “If there had been another—if you could have notified me sooner, at least, I—perhaps I could have done more, bought you more time—”

“Enough, Severus. You’ve done well.”

Minerva couldn’t exactly agree with him, but it was true that her annoyance with Severus had vanished; it was difficult to be angry with someone who looked as though he wished for nothing more than the flagstones to swallow him whole. She tried to take a calming breath, unsurprised when it didn’t work.

“Albus, why didn’t you warn me?” 

He gave her a tired smile. “Would you not have tried to stop me?”

“I—of course!—but… Albus, what of the Order, what of _everything_ —?”

He sighed. “I did leave instructions, within my arrangements,” he said. “I knew only that there might be a chance of my death tonight, and—”

“So you chose to take it, instead of increasing your odds of survival,” Severus muttered.

“—opted not to explain everything beforehand, in the event of my survival,” Albus finished. “As, of course, I have, however temporarily.”

Minerva shook her head. “You still should have told me, if you knew this was going to happen!”

“I didn’t, earlier, though it was a risk I was willing to take. I knew when I was cursed, yes, but by then—”

“It should never have come to that! You should have taken me with you, or Severus—he’s the Dark Arts expert, I’m sure he would have recognised the curse before you gave it a chance to take hold—at the very least, we could have stopped you being so tempted by a trinket that you didn’t stop to _think_ before touching it!” Minerva shouted. Her eyes burned with frustration and grief and something else she couldn’t place, but it left a horrible ache in her chest. “Albus, _why?_ ” 

He hesitated. “That is certainly a discussion for another time. You both have classes in a few hours, and we all could do with rest, and time to think. For now, it’s time to sleep.”

“Fine,” said Severus sullenly, before she could respond. “But not before you take _those_.” He pointed to the remaining potions he’d brought, and Albus drank them without further comment. Both she and Severus steadied him as he made to rise.

“Poppy, first thing tomorrow,” she said tersely, as they headed up the stairs to his quarters.

“And I’ve half a mind to make a house elf watch you tonight,” Severus added.

“Very well.” Albus sounded as though the journey to his bed was more draining than he’d thought it would be. “But we will keep this between us, for the time being." 

“But—”

“Your word, Severus. And yours, Minerva.”

“…Yes, Headmaster.”

“I—” Minerva sighed. “Fine. For now. Nimsy?”

Her elf appeared with a _crack_ , eyes wide when she saw her surroundings. “Yes, Mistress?”

“See that Professor Dumbledore has assistance during the night, if he requires it.”

“Of course, Mistress! Nimsy and Headmaster’s elves will help, we is always ready! We is watching!”

“Thank you.” She waited until Nimsy had vanished again, then left the room before Albus could wish her goodnight.

It wasn’t fair. She’d trusted him, _begged_ him to trust her with this, and this is what they had to show for it? Nothing but the assurance that Albus knew what he was doing, and the very un-reassuring fact that his days were numbered?

“Minerva?”

She looked up; the portrait occupants of the office were all staring at her. “Yes, Dilys?”

“It’s true, then.” 

“I’m afraid so.” She closed her eyes to block out their startled exclamations. “Not a word to _anyone_ outside this office, is that clear? Albus—Albus made us swear it.”

“Minerva.” Severus had appeared behind her; she had the sudden absurd thought that he looked ridiculous in the nightclothes she’d transfigured for him, as they were slightly too big, upon closer inspection. She sighed and shook her head.

“I suppose he said nothing else?” 

“No.” He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “I—I can’t—I’m going to bed.”

“Of course.” She gestured him to the hearth and reached for the Floo powder.

He stopped her before she could climb in beside him. “Wait.” He moved back towards the bookcase, and she remembered the sword; he hesitated, as though afraid to touch it, but it allowed him to replace it on its shelf without incident. She pulled him back into the fireplace with her when he hesitated again.

“Come on. You might as well.”

“I—if you’re sure.”

“I did offer for the whole night, you know.”

He nodded, and they went back to her rooms without further comment; she was suddenly glad she would not be alone in her quarters, foolish though that was. It was not as if either of them wanted to talk, really, or she certainly didn’t…

“Do you want tea, before…?” The offer had slipped out before she realised it.

He shook his head and made his way back to his makeshift bed. “No. Thank you.” He paused. “You should, though. That is not an easy curse to destroy, even if you are armed with the sword of Gryffindor.”

She blinked. He couldn’t have known how tempting it was to just leave the ring alone, let it continue to exist… or maybe he did. She didn’t plan on asking more about it, either way. “I… I am sorry for threatening to stab you with it,” she said finally, unsure of how else to respond.

“I wish you had,” he said flatly, then grimaced and curled up under her blanket again, his back to her. “Goodnight, Minerva.”

“…Severus?”

He didn’t reply, and she didn’t press. She returned to her own room, foregoing the tea in favour of a sleeping draught, and desperately hoped for all of this to be some bizarre nightmare when she woke.

* * *

He’d meant to put fear into the girl he’d given hot chocolate, but by the end of the lesson, Severus was sure the only thing the first year Gryffindors thought of him was that he was rather dull, and somewhat strict, as though he were a poor imitation of their head of house. He ordered them all out as soon as he could and followed them out of the dungeons, thinking vaguely of heading to the kitchens, as he’d missed both breakfast and lunch.

“Professor Snape. There you are.”

He didn’t jump, precisely, but Poppy sounded exceptionally displeased. He racked his brains to recall whether he’d promised her potions he’d forgotten, in the hopes that she might be calling him for any other reason than the one he feared, but he came up short.

 _Damn._ He squared his shoulders and redirected his steps towards the hospital wing doors.

“I’ve been in class, as you very well know. It’s still a weekday.”

Poppy eyed him, clearly not amused. “You’ve not been in the Great Hall for meals, and didn’t answer your door this morning either time I tried. One would think you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Apologies. That was not my intention,” he said truthfully, though he was not about to explain where he’d spent the previous night. “I was elsewhere this morning.”

She looked as though she doubted it, but shook her head and let it go. “No matter. You’re here now. Would you come in? I need to talk to you.”

“Of course.” He followed her back to her office, surprised but grateful when she summoned tea and shoved a cup at him without asking.

“You saved Albus’s life last night,” she said without preamble.

“I—well, I—”

“Don’t be modest. He told me himself this morning." 

“He did see you, then.” 

“Yes.” Poppy shook her head, smirking slightly. “I’m afraid when I saw his hand, I rather… er, startled him. Let’s put it that way.”

Severus snorted. “You had every right. I’m sorry I didn’t insist he see you sooner, but as the message he sent me said he’d been cursed—” 

“Oh, no, Severus, you mustn’t mistake—I’m not angry with you, not at all!”

He blinked. He hadn’t prepared for the possibility that she wouldn’t be. “Then… why…?” 

“I only wanted to ask what you knew about the curse, that’s all. Anything that would make it easier to, well… Is there anything I can do?”

“I’m afraid I will only disappoint you,” Severus said. “I can’t say whether—no. I have never seen that curse before, to be honest, although I am familiar with several that are similar. I modified some of their counterspells to stop its progress, but there’s no undoing the damage already done. Or, at least, I assume so. There is not, with the other curses, and as this one seemed to be stronger… “

“I understand. And I wasn’t overly hopeful, when Albus said—well, when he said you’d already seen to it. But I thought I’d ask.”

Severus watched her carefully, pretending he was fascinated with his tea. “Did he say anything else?”

“Only that he was feeling much better, and only came to me because Minerva insisted.” Poppy snorted. “The nerve. How exactly was he planning on hiding that, anyway?”

“I’ve no idea.” Severus was sure Poppy didn’t know about the real nature of Albus’s condition. She couldn’t have been so calm, knowing, and Albus had made it sound like no one else was to know… although, if she did, perhaps she simply saw no use in bringing it up? She would obviously know that he did, and if there was nothing to be done, she would be unlikely to linger over it, practical as she was.

“Severus?”

“I’m sorry?” He was going to develop an awful reputation for not paying attention, if he kept this up. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit tired.”

“I’ve noticed,” Poppy said. “I think the whole castle’s noticed.”

“I have not taken _that_ many house points.” 

“You’ve certainly done much worse on that account, yes.”

He’d do worse still, he thought, if his duties continued to cut into the time he usually reserved for detentions… but that was something to address later. He shook his head and finished his tea quickly.

“Was there nothing else, Poppy? You need nothing else for your stores?”

“You replenished my stores only days ago,” she reminded him. “They’re fine. And no, there was nothing else, unless you’ve changed your mind about your annual check-up… ?”

“Absolutely not.”

"That’s several years in a row now without it,” she said, frowning. “You oughtn’t leave it much longer.”

“I refuse to waste your time with it,” he said firmly. “I don’t see the point, when we know exactly what you’d say.”

Poppy raised an eyebrow, but the corners of her mouth twitched like she was suppressing a smile. “Oh? And what would that be, then, you who knows exactly what I would say?”

Severus shook his head. “Let’s see… underweight—" 

“That’s true.”

“—should drink less and sleep more—”

“Also true.” 

He snorted. “And the usual about blood pressure and exercise and being more careful about ventilation in the dungeons.” 

Poppy nodded, pouring them both more tea, although she sighed. “Well, at least you’re self-aware, I’ll give you that.”

“You could have a little more confidence in me, you know.” 

“Minerva was the healer, not you.” She suddenly stopped. “You didn’t hear that from me.” 

“No, I’ve heard it from her,” Severus admitted. “But I didn’t think it a secret.”

“It’s not, really—Pomona knows, and several others. But Minerva doesn’t like to talk about it.” Poppy shook herself. “And you _also_ didn’t hear that from me.”

“Understood.” _Perhaps better than you think._ He had no desire to discuss it with Minerva again, anyway; partly because he did not really care what she had done with much of her past, and partly because he didn’t enjoy upsetting her, whatever anyone else believed about that. He wondered how often she and Poppy had discussed it—whether they’d ever considered they could have been colleagues at St. Mungo’s— _perhaps they had been_ —but decided it was no more his business than anything else about their lives, really.

He pushed away his cup and stood. “If there’s nothing else, Poppy, I really must be going. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Of course. And you’ll do the same, won’t you? Severus?”

He didn’t answer, already halfway out the door. She couldn’t help him—not in any way that he would consider most useful. He rather doubted anyone in the castle could, unless Albus suddenly decided to stop wasting his time with dangerous trips and stupid letters and do his own _fucking_ research, or at least do a better job of putting his affairs in order so they weren’t left with nothing… 

It was probably bad form to think ill of the dying, but he couldn’t help it. Albus had insisted they all trust him, made them depend on him, wove plans within plans… and then had as good as admitted he knew he was going to leave it all in their laps. And he hadn’t even the courtesy to tell them what it was he thought so important to do it for. Selfish.

 _But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?_  

It was almost alarming how much his critical inner voice had started to sound like Albus. When had that happened? _Get out of my head, old man._

God, he was losing it. He didn’t have time for this. He stalked towards the library, barely gratified to see students giving him a wide berth. He was fairly certain that the Dark Lord wouldn’t call tonight, but just as well—he had work to do.


	11. Serpent's Treason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Pick one. I've written ten for this story already.
> 
> Author's Note: Thank you all for your kind comments so far! I really appreciate it. Feel free to leave more, as usual. ;) Sorry for the wait on this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

She had barely paid much mind to the knock on her doorframe, but the voice accompanying it gave her pause; she hadn’t heard it in years.

“Minerva! I hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Filius caught me in the hall, you know, told me you were here—good to see you again!”

She looked up, smiling, although she felt she had never been able to achieve the effortless warmth Horace exuded in droves. “Horace—I didn’t expect you so soon. Welcome back.”

She stood to summon tea, stifling the urge to roll her eyes as he took her bony hand in his doughy ones and kissed it. He did mean well, if he had always been a bit exuberant for her tastes.

“Thank you, my dear! I was only just—oh, no, I couldn’t possibly, right before lunch—but if you insist—” He took the seat and the plate of biscuits she indicated. “It was all a bit spur-of-the-moment. Albus had mentioned by next weekend, but I gave it some thought, and why wait? And he was most gracious about my change of plans, most gracious, so here I am!”

“Here you are, indeed,” said Minerva politely, settling back into her chair. “You’re looking well, Horace.”

He barked a laugh. “I’m looking old and fat, you mean!” he said, patting his middle; it did appear to be putting more strain on the buttons of his jacket than when she’d seen him last, although not by much, given he’d been rather rotund then, too. “But I don’t mean to complain, it’s entirely my fault, you know, indulging in the finer things while I’m getting on in years. Always a wonderful experience—perhaps I could persuade you to let me throw together some supper parties again, to share some of my finer discoveries with the more discerning?”

“I don’t see why not, although you should really ask Albus,” she said.

“Excellent! I’m sure he won’t mind, it won’t be disruptive, I’ll make sure of it… You’re invited whenever you like, of course, and Filius and Pomona… Who else is still here that I know?”

“Most everyone, I think—perhaps not Charity, our Muggle Studies professor. I believe she arrived a few years after you retired? And I can’t recall whether Aurora started before then; she might still have been in the Astronomy department at Uagadou, assisting her mother.”

Horace’s eyes lit up with interest. “I don’t believe we’ve met, no… Uagadou, you say? Talented witches and wizards, very talented indeed.”

“She’s said much the same, yes, although she maintains that our library is much more conducive to her work,” Minerva said.

“No surprises there, I suppose… And who’s watching my old house, these days? Severus still keeping them all in line?”

“Severus is still at his post, yes,” she said cautiously, “but—”

“Excellent! I’ve been meaning to say hello, but he always ignored my party invitations, you know… but just like him, isn’t it? Well, he can’t avoid me now! Where has he been hiding?”

“If you find out, let me know,” said Minerva drily. “I haven’t seen him since last Thursday.”

Horace’s eyes went almost comically round. “But—surely that’s—he’s Head of Slytherin, for god’s sake! He’s got to be _visible_ , uphold the standards of—”

“Severus is a fine Potions master, Horace, and a credit to your house,” Minerva said. “But I’m afraid he’s been very busy this term with other obligations.”

Horace frowned. “I suppose… well, as long as the students have no objections, and Slytherin is not being neglected… “

“Ah—I am not sure what Albus has discussed with you, Horace, but I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a snag with Slytherin… “ 

* * *

The _crack_ of Apparition in the Restricted Section made Severus look up with a frown; a nervous-looking house elf stood before his table with a small stack of envelopes.

“I is bringing letters for Professor Snape,” it squeaked. “You is not in the Great Hall for the owls, so we is making sure—”

“Yes, thank you,” he said shortly; this didn’t look like any of the elves who’d brought him his post in the past few days, but it was difficult to tell. “Just leave it here.”

The elf pushed the letters on top of one of his books, then vanished with a bow and another _crack._ Severus eyed the stack without enthusiasm, but his concentration was already broken—he might as well deal with it now, anyway. He nearly vanished them all on the spot, as they seemed unimportant, but a familiar mark on one of them gave him pause.

_S—_

_While I am glad we have not had reason to see you in the past few days (no insult to you, of course), I’m afraid something has come up that we must discuss in person. N has the opportunity to leave this evening and will meet you outside the place I bought you your last birthday present at 9:00. Make whatever excuses you must, but be there._

_-L_

Severus resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. He was reasonably certain that no one took much of an interest in his post, but for all Lucius’s attempts not to reveal much to prying eyes, the idiot had still used the Malfoy family crest. Perhaps he’d known Severus might have ignored the letter otherwise, but if anyone had been watching, this wouldn’t look good for either of them—no matter whose side a watcher might be on.

Still, Lucius must have been desperate, if he was risking sending Narcissa out from under the Dark Lord’s nose. She would have some other excuse, of course, but if the wrong person saw them meeting…

“Severus?”

He glanced up; Minerva was blinking at him, her arms full of books. He tucked the letter into his robes and tried not to look as though he had been sitting there for hours, although his own stack gave him away.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding all this time?”

He nearly scowled, but it seemed like too much effort, somehow. “I’ve hardly been hiding. It’s not as though I haven’t been in classes when I’m not here.”

“No one’s seen you for days.”

“You could have asked Madam Pince.”

“She’s cross enough with me already, I owe her at least three books… She wasn’t entirely helpful when I asked where to find these, either,” Minerva said, indicating the pile in her arms. “Do you mind?”

“What? Oh—” Severus cleared a space on the table for them, although he raised an eyebrow at some of the titles. “ _Darkest Arts of the Dark Ages_? That’s a bit outside your usual, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but I thought it might substitute for—oh, you have it,” she said, nodding to an equally thick volume perched atop one of his piles. _More Dark magic she’s looking for, then._ He narrowed his eyes.

“Minerva, what are you doing?”

“The same thing you are, I expect,” she said, meeting his stare levelly.

“I doubt it. I’m trying to reconstruct a potion, remember?” He waved his hand vaguely at the few potions manuals he’d pulled from the shelves, very aware they were far enough away not to be convincing.

“Yes, _Cursed Artefacts of the Middle Ages_ certainly sounds very potion-centric,” she sniffed. “And—let’s see— _Secrets of the Ancient Cursebreakers_ — _Morgana’s Compendium of_ —”

“All right, you’ve made your point,” he snapped. “I’m not just researching that potion, no.”

He took a moment to rein in his temper; he’d had no further encounters with the Dark Lord since they’d last spoken, but he still felt horribly on edge. _Stop. This isn’t her fault._ He suddenly remembered he’d never thanked her properly for offering him a room—he’d meant to leave her a potion, damn it—what else was he forgetting? _No. This is how you’ll get yourself killed. Focus._

Minerva was watching him. “Do you think there’s any hope? For this, I mean?” she asked quietly, nodding to their book collection.

“Right now? No,” he admitted, fighting the urge to look away. He hadn’t considered it before, really, but it seemed far more difficult confirming for her that Albus was dying than it had been to tell Albus himself. “But I can’t—I can’t _not_ try.”

She sighed. “I thought not. But… understood. Clearly I’ve thought much the same, though I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.”

“Well, you’re in the right section, and that’s about as far as I’ve gotten,” he muttered. He examined her books more closely. “You can put those two back. I finished them yesterday. Nothing.”

“That’s something, at least,” she said unhappily. She pulled out the chair nearest her stack. “I don’t suppose you’d let me share until supper? Seeing as Irma likely won’t let me leave with these?”

“If you like.” He paused, unnerved at how quickly she settled into one of her books. “Minerva, I… I need to ask you a favour.”

She looked up in surprise. “Which is… ?”

It was a risk, he knew, but he supposed he’d have to start trusting her more eventually, with Albus’s days numbered… He shook himself and lowered his voice.

“I need to leave the castle tonight, for no more than a few hours. I’d prefer Albus didn’t know about it, if at all possible.”

“I can’t guarantee that,” she said slowly. “I will cover for you if necessary, of course, yes—but I cannot promise he will not go looking for you himself. Nor that he will not be able to determine your absence from the wards.”

“He’s got me keyed into the _castle_ _wards?_ ” he said, momentarily distracted.

Minerva eyed him apologetically. “It’s how I knew you were back the other night, I’m afraid. I assumed—I assumed it was something you had agreed to, to help ease your comings and goings for the castle?”

“No, it bloody well was _not_ something I agreed to,” he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose—but her explanation made sense, at least, if he was still offended Albus had never told him. _Think, idiot_. _Of course he would have quietly put a watch on you, fifteen years ago—he owed you no explanation._

“I’m sorry,” Minerva said quietly. “If it helps, the wards are rather overwhelming—I doubt he will be able to tell unless he’s focusing specifically on you. There’s simply too much to feel, otherwise. I will try to keep his attention elsewhere.”

“It seems I have little choice. Thank you.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll at least tell _me_ where you’re going?”

He hesitated. _Outside the place I bought you your last birthday present…_ That had been a very selective bookshop, specialising in the Dark Arts, of course; Borgin and Burkes couldn’t hope to compete. But Lucius had only mentioned it as a meeting place; surely Narcissa would want to go somewhere more comfortable to talk… the closest place being…

_Oh, this looks bad._

“The south end of Knockturn Alley,” he mumbled, feeling heat creep into his face. “Not—not for—” Minerva’s arched eyebrow told him he was not helping his case. “I’m meeting someone.” _That’s not better, idiot._

He fumbled for the letter again. “Here.”

“I wasn’t making assumptions,” Minerva said, taking it. She frowned as she read. “You have no idea what they want?”

“No, but I doubt it’s good.”

“Probably not, no, especially if you’re meeting _there_. Well, be careful, at least, if you really must go traipsing about the area.”

“I can stay out of trouble, unlike some.”

He ignored her very doubtful snort and returned to his reading. 

* * *

Severus hadn’t appeared that evening in the Great Hall, which Minerva thought was wise; he’d have drawn more attention by attending after so long an absence. No one seemed to pay any mind to his empty chair, anyway—most of the students were shooting curious looks at Horace, who was in his element reminiscing with his old colleagues, though thankfully within the bounds of a normal term dinner. She had a feeling they’d all be far less professional afterwards for drinks, though.

She frowned upon glancing sideways; Albus seemed to be having difficulties with his knife, though she’d hardly expected otherwise, given that his hand looked no better. 

“Is it hurting you again?”

Albus shrugged. “Less that you would think, but it is a bit of an adjustment, I’m afraid. It could certainly be worse.”

She certainly needed no reminder of _that_. She shook her head in exasperation and changed the subject. “Will you be joining us after dinner?”

“I think not,” he said. “I trust Horace will want to become reacquainted with you all again, and as I’ve taken up much of his time here already…”

“Have you?” she said, suddenly frowning. “He didn’t say, when he visited me earlier, only that he’d seen Filius. Speaking of which—may I ask why it seems to have fallen to me to inform him about his House?”

Albus shifted ever so slightly. “Ah. It must have—”

“I won’t believe for a moment it slipped your mind, you know.”

He sighed. “Forgive me. I was making an effort to remain in Horace’s favour. He was not as enthusiastic about returning here as I have made it seem.”

“He did make a fuss, so I suppose at least you avoided that. And you still haven’t really told me why he’s here, other than to help Severus, and I get the impression that was an afterthought.”

Albus was uncharacteristically silent. She narrowed her eyes in thought.

“Don’t tell me you two are—again—”

“Oh, no. We burnt that bridge many, _many_ years ago,” said Albus, chuckling. “Besides, it would seem cruel to begin any such thing now, knowing how little time we would have.”

She was mostly sure he was joking, as he’d planned for Horace even before last week’s incident, but she still shook her head. “I suppose it depends on… well, never mind.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “We still need to talk. Properly.”

“We do. But not tonight.”

“When, Albus?”

“Soon. I promise.” At her exasperated sigh, he shook his head. “We have time, Minerva.”

“Not nearly enough,” she said. It occurred to her that this might be his own way of becoming accustomed to the idea of his death, and she might show more restraint when asking for a conversation about it, but his avoidance was no less irritating. Still, she didn’t press further, and nodded when he excused himself after a brief dessert.

Pomona caught her eye as she pushed away her plate. “You’ll be joining us for a nightcap, Minerva?”

“I suppose so. I’m not in the mood for much else.”

“Rough first week for you, too, then,” said Pomona. “Well, come on. There’s something up there with your name on it, weekday or not.”

Minerva didn’t particularly want to socialise with Horace and the rest of the staff, so she settled in one of the comfortable armchairs near the edge of the room. Pomona looked surprised, but didn’t comment, instead pouring them both sweet spiced rum.

“How is your nephew’s wedding planning coming along?” Minerva asked, trying to keep her focus away from the school or the war at the moment. Pomona didn’t seem to mind. 

“Better than it has a right to,” she chuckled. “They want it done quickly, of course—I’d say they were rushing, but, well… You can’t blame them. It’s not like we haven’t seen this before, last time. But they’ve done very well so far. Dress robes ordered, nearly set on a guest list and refreshments, I think, although there is some debate about the location…”

Minerva shook her head, recalling memories of her own wedding—odd though they were to dredge up, now, but better than alternative lines of conversation. “Goodness. We took _months_ to decide all of that, and we were all for a simple thing." 

“Well, so are they,” said Pomona, “but you know my sister… ”

“I do. They have their work cut out for them.”

Pomona grinned. “Well, Ansel says if they’re not all sorted out by the end of the month, they’re eloping, but I’m not to tell her that.”

“Some people have all the fun,” said Minerva wryly.

“Ooh, they’d better not, I don’t want to explain how I knew about it ahead of time, and you know I can’t lie.”

“I’m sure they will work something out before it comes to that,” said Minerva. “Besides, if they did, no one could expect you to have known. That’s rather beside the point of elopement.”

She very nearly mentioned that she should know—she’d been very close to running off with a young man herself, once—but it didn’t feel right to say it, even to someone as dear as Pomona. She’d only told Albus, and as much comfort as it had been at the time, it still made for the occasional embarrassing moment when she wondered whether he still remembered.

Then again, she was fairly certain Albus had embarrassing secrets on all of them. She tried not to imagine what Pomona’s might be.

“—know you had advised against it,” Pomona was saying, her cheeks pink, “but it’s such a small thing, and I hardly leave the grounds as it is. I’m not much like the rest of you, but if a few public words are best how I can stand against him, then I think I should.”

It took Minerva a few moments to realise where the subject had shifted, and her heart sank. _Charity’s book. Merlin._  

“Oh, Pomona, you didn’t.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “But, like I said, I’m not often off the grounds, and I think the likelihood You-Know-Who takes an interest in me is so little—it’s not like I wrote the damn thing, did I? And I’m not in your Order.”

“I don’t think he cares about that. You’re allied with us, at least,” said Minerva quietly.

“Look. He’s not going after every _Prophet_ reporter telling people how to resist him, is he? Two sentences on the back cover commenting on the fine depth of Charity’s research can hardly mean much to him. I’ll be _fine_ , Minerva.” She gave a lopsided grin. “And if I’m not, then I suppose I’ll be spending all next summer here, then.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Minerva, shaking her head. “And I do appreciate—well. But I’m still going to worry.”

“You don’t need to right this minute. Worry about Horace and Moody in the same room together, if you must.”

Minerva shuddered. “Oh, believe me, I do. I suppose I’d best stay for a while, then.”

She doubted Horace would make much of it, but Alastor had never been particularly fond of the old Slytherin in past mention. A flippant remark—even as well-meaning as Horace usually was—had the potential to turn uncomfortable. She sipped her drink and wondered when faculty gatherings had started to feel more like child sitting.

Pomona sighed, clearly thinking along the same lines. “You know, whether or not he’s planning on his supper parties again, Filius and I were thinking of meeting an evening a week or so, once the term’s settled a bit. Just a few of us. Perhaps you’d be interested?”

“I—of course, but—”

Pomona waved away her question. “I know you’re busy. Bring your paperwork if you want, Merlin knows I probably will. But things have gotten gloomy and there’s no sense in us being shut up alone working all the time, either.” 

“Very well. I’ll await your invitation.”

“Please. Nothing so formal. Filius’s rooms, next Friday, unless you’ve got plans?”

“Other than patrol duty, no.”

“That’s all right. I’m on the off hours, I think.” Pomona shrugged. “Just the three of us for now, though you might try to bring Severus, if you’d like. That boy still doesn’t get out nearly enough.”

Minerva snorted at the irony; he was out far too often for her liking, though not in the way Pomona meant. She shook her head at Pomona’s raised eyebrows.

“That boy is nearly forty years old, if he isn’t already,” she said instead.

“Is he? I’ve lost count.” Pomona grinned suddenly. “Happens when you’re old.”

Minerva smirked. “And what does that make me?”

“Still younger than me.”

“Five years!”

“Prettier, then.”

“Hush.”

* * *

It was cooler than he would have liked, and raining again, which made Severus wonder whether Narcissa was going to meet him inside the bookshop rather than near it; it probably would be smarter, anyway. If Knockturn Alley was dodgy, the south end was the sort of place even powerful wizards kept their wands concealed in one hand and a dagger in the other. Association with the Dark Lord meant little to those just as dangerous and opportunistic.

Besides, there were people who took rank as a challenge, to say nothing of those who might harbour some grudge. Severus kept his face well hidden in the hood of his cloak, though he lamented the slight loss of hearing and vision the cover cost him. His only consolation was that everyone else he encountered was at the same disadvantage, though it didn’t stop him feeling the obvious appraisals he exchanged with them. He was an equal threat, maybe, or not worth the trouble. Anywhere else he might have been insulted, but here he didn’t care what anyone thought as long as he didn’t look weak or lost—which was harder than he wanted to admit.

The south end was less an end than a labyrinth of backstreets and odd corners that had somehow devolved from one side of the main alley; it was nearly impossible to find an address if you hadn’t been there before. There was no rhyme or reason to the types of establishments crammed into unlikely spots, a good chance their real locations were behind hidden doors anyway, and a better chance someone was waiting to jump the passer-by who unknowingly lingered too long outside them.

 _There_. The bookshop Severus sought was sandwiched between a drapery and a place that either sold cursed musical instruments or served as an exotic butcher shop; it was difficult to tell. He was only halfway through the door when someone inside grabbed his hand, and he fought the urge to strike without looking first.

“Hands off if you want to keep them,” he snarled. The hooded figure paused, apparently examining the wand it found pointed at its face.

“Severus. I thought that was you.”

He blinked. Narcissa immediately let him go and uncovered her face slightly; he lowered his wand and followed suit, frowning.

“Are you mad? I might have cursed you." 

“I know you better than that.”

“And if it hadn’t been me?”

“Then I would be another aggressive palm reader in this alley that no one pays attention to. I’m perfectly all right.” She sniffed. “Honestly, you’re worse than Lucius. Even if I’m not one of _His_ chosen, I can still take care of myself.”

Severus reappraised her; he’d so long thought of her as Narcissa Malfoy that he’d almost forgotten she’d grown up with two imposing sisters and still held her own. She was far less delicate than Lucius, in a way, although to think either of them so because of their finery was a grave mistake. He nodded and cast an eye around the bookshop.

“I assume we’re not staying here?”

“There are better places to talk.”

He grimaced. “More private, at least. I wouldn’t call it better.”

Narcissa sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Endora’s is more discreet than even the Leaky Cauldron.”

“Tom doesn’t run a brothel out of his inn,” Severus snapped. “I’d like to _hope_ anyone who does is more discreet.”

“You can argue your opinion of the establishment later,” said Narcissa, drawing her hood up again. “I don’t have much time. I expect you don’t, either.”

“No, although I did convince Minerva McGonagall to keep Dumbledore occupied. Even if she does think I’m visiting your preferred establishment for the more obvious reason.” The half-truth came easily; he ignored Narcissa’s soft laugh and followed her back into the street, directing his steps towards the largest building on this side of the alley.

It was, perhaps, the only place here the average wizard might have heard of, though its entrance was still concealed through its left window rather than the door. “To keep out the riff-raff,” Lucius had said once, although to keep out Ministry raids was more likely in Severus’s opinion. He still hesitated at the entrance, and Narcissa sighed.

“Come on. No one will bother us if I’m with you.”

He glanced sideways at her, but of course her face was still hidden; he wondered whether her preference for Endora’s was indeed for its privacy or whether she had another connection. Not wanting to ask, lest she take it the wrong way, he followed her through the window and nearly stopped dead. 

The clientele still weren’t the sort that would frequent the Three Broomsticks, but the pub itself was nearly as bright and clean as the Leaky Cauldron, with nothing obvious to suggest the presence of its more lucrative business. Narcissa tugged him towards a corner table and pushed back her hood slightly.

“Endora has upgraded the place since you’ve last been here, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Severus agreed, feeling wrong-footed. “I haven’t been here since—”

“—Lucius brought you to help sell, back when you were still dealing in illicit potions. Yes, I knew about that,” she said, smirking. “Endora is a distant cousin, you see. Very distant, but helpful.”

“Not just a friend in low places, then,” he murmured; that at least cleared that up, though it didn’t make him feel much better.

Narcissa nodded, motioning to the bar staff. “She’s still in that business, too, not that she needs it… Wine?”

“If you like,” he said, though he doubted he’d be drinking much of it. He waited until she’d ordered and they were alone again before lowering his voice.

“How did you manage to leave?”

“Oddly enough, illicit potions ingredients,” she said softly. “The others he would have trusted to go were busy elsewhere, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have bothered you for a small thing like that.”

“I suppose not,” he said, though he wasn’t sure whether he found that concerning. They fell silent as a younger woman brought them both drinks and vanished behind the bar again. Neither of them touched the goblets.

“You said your time is short. Why am I here?” he asked bluntly.

Narcissa took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for all the secrecy, it’s just… Lucius and I, we thought you might be able to help, what with being his favoured advisor these days, and now…” Unless he was mistaken, her eyes had filled with tears. “Draco’s been Marked.”

He searched her face, but he had no doubt her upset was genuine. Lucius’s, too, if their last conversation could be believed. Severus sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

She gave an odd little hiccup and something that was almost a smile. “That doesn’t sound like something a Death Eater would say.”

He glanced at her sharply. “I was under the impression that you and Lucius did not want—”

“We didn’t. Please, I’m not questioning your loyalty. Please hear me out.”

Had it been anyone else, Severus would have put it down to a trap—it was probably foolish to think this _wasn’t_ , but a part of him found it difficult to care. Besides, hearing her out meant nothing. “All right.” 

Narcissa toyed with her goblet, but appeared to think better of drinking from it. “You know we wanted Draco to wait… but the Dark Lord had other plans. There was nothing we could do about that.”

“Was he the only one?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Draco. Was he the only one underage to be Marked? Or have there been others?”

“I don’t know,” said Narcissa, frowning. “I think… just Draco. That is all Lucius and I know of, for now. We’ve certainly heard of no plans otherwise.”

“Why Draco, then?”

“To punish Lucius, I think,” she said. “He knows Lucius and I didn’t want… and he is still angry with Lucius for last June… and we couldn’t very well refuse…” She sniffled quietly and swallowed. “There is nothing we can do, but we thought if you—perhaps—”

Severus nearly laughed, though certainly not at the thought of what would happen if he really were that stupid. “And what do you expect I could do that you cannot?”

“I… You are his favourite, Severus, his most trusted servant—surely—”

“I cannot change the Dark Lord’s mind, Narcissa, nor am I stupid enough to attempt it. It is done.”

“Not change his mind,” she said quickly, her voice breaking. “I know that. But if you could perhaps… keep Draco from most of his attention… Please, Severus. You’ve been like an uncle to Draco, and he is still so young… He has no idea what will really be asked of him, the harm that could come to him—but if you were there to help—”

“You know I have no desire to see him harmed,” said Severus. “But I cannot promise—if he angers the Dark Lord—”

“Then _help him_. See that he doesn’t,” she begged. “The others don’t care, they will not show him how to keep himself safe... and there are plenty who would try to see him fail, out of spite… Please, Severus. He’s my only son.”

Severus avoided her eyes. It would be cruel to guarantee Draco’s safety; he had no way to make it so. But he was still a child, albeit a misguided and annoyingly arrogant one. 

“I will do what I can,” Severus said quietly. “You have my word.”

“Thank you.” Narcissa dabbed discreetly at her cheeks, though she was still trembling slightly. “I wish you had at least been the one to stand for him, if Lucius wasn’t permitted.”

“Then who—?” he started, though he thought he already knew the answer.

Narcissa confirmed it. “Bella. Please be careful—if she thinks you are interfering—”

“I can handle your sister.”

“You know she doubts you.”

“And if she thinks any of my concern for Draco is cause to doubt further, then she is madder than I thought,” Severus said flatly. Narcissa flinched, but didn’t argue the slight. “And if so, then I suggest you remove any fondness you have left for her.”

“Severus, she’s my sister.”

“Do you think she would care about that if she thought your loyalty to Draco or Lucius was greater than that to the Dark Lord?”

Narcissa looked up, her face white. “I—that is not what I meant to suggest—you know I am loyal—”

“I know you are,” he said, though he’d told that lie enough times to recognise insincerity when he heard it. “And I rather think, if it were questioned, the Dark Lord would be more willing to trust my—”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said.

“I was under the impression that Bellatrix was as much to blame for last June’s failure as Lucius,” he said carefully, “if not more.”

“Of course it was her fault,” Narcissa snapped. “But she—that is—she has—regained favour with the Dark Lord more quickly than Lucius.”

Severus frowned; the Dark Lord did not forgive. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “But she has.” Narcissa looked around anxiously. “That is—she is in a greater position to have his ear—and I have no doubts she will use that to her advantage if you anger her—" 

“You don’t know how, or you can’t tell me?”

Narcissa bit her lip. “I’ve been forbidden to speak of it, yes.”

“Then you ought not.”

“I know. If the Dark Lord discovered you knew, it would be your head as well as ours.” She fell silent and fished a galleon from her robes, leaving it on the table beside their untouched wine. “I need to go. You should, too, before Dumbledore starts to wonder.”

“Of course.” He rose from his seat carefully, trying not to draw too much attention to their corner. “Did you still need your ingredients?”

“Some I have already. The others are waiting for me with Borgin.”

Severus nodded; she was clever enough to make any gaps in her errand harder to spot. “Let me at least escort you closer to his shop.”

“Certainly.” She got to her feet and tugged her hood down further again, though he didn’t miss the last glance she cast around the room. But the pub had been as good as her word; it didn’t seem as though anyone had taken any interest in them since they’d arrived.

He accompanied her back through the alley in silence, pleased no one gave them more than the usual suspicious glance, though he still clenched his wand tightly beneath his cloak. Narcissa didn’t pause until they were in more familiar territory, the sign for Borgin and Burkes dimly lit at the corner.

“I’ll go, now,” Severus said quietly. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Narcissa hesitated; he could feel her eyes boring into him from under her cowl. She surprised him by eschewing the more practical farewell for a more formal embrace, but as she dipped her head close, she breathed, so softly he almost couldn’t hear: “Bella’s pregnant. His.”

Before he could so much as blink, Narcissa turned and hurried away as though he didn’t exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: You will pry my attempts to fix the travesty that was Cursed Child from my cold, dead hands. (Well, except Albus and Scorpius. They were adorable.) But if BellaMort's lovechild is going to be canon, I'm going to do my best to find SOME sort of AU where it's not as fucking ridiculous as it was there, goddamnit.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, or if you just want to scream about Harry Potter with me, that's fine, too. ;)


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